LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA; 


Class 


THE  TWELVE  BEST  TALES 
BY  ENGLISH  WRITERS 


UNIFORM    WITH    THIS    VOLUME 


BEST  ENGLISH  AND  SCOTTISH 
BALLADS 

Selected  by  EDWARD  A.  BRYANT 


With  frontispiece.      Gilt  top.      lOnto, 
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THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY 
New  York 


THE 

Ctoeltoe  Best  Caies 


BY  ENGLISH   WRITERS 


SELECTED  BY 

ADAM    L.    GOWANS,    M.A. 


NEW    YORK 

THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1911, 
BY  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY. 


PREFACE 

WHEN  it  is  explained  that  this  selection  is  re- 
stricted to  the  work  of  authors  no  longer  living  and 
to  stories  not  exceeding  15,000  words  in  length,  it  is 
evident  to  any  one  who  has  a  moderate  acquaintance 
with  English  literature  that  the  field  of  selection  is 
immensely  narrowed  and  the  title  chosen  for  the 
volume  not  nearly  so  presumptuous  as  it  may  at 
first  sight  seem.  For  the  short  story  was  strangely 
neglected  by  the  great  English  prose-writers  before 
the  beginning  of  last  century.  Why  this  should 
have  been  so  when  they  had  the  examples  of 
Boccaccio's  " Decameron"  and  Cervantes's  "Exem- 
plary Novels"  before  them,  it  is  difficult  to  say;  at 
any  rate,  neither  Fielding  nor  Swift,  neither  Steele 
nor  Addison,  attempted  to  emulate  those  great 
story-tellers,  and  we  find  no  thoroughly  satisfactory 
example  of  the  art  till  we  reach  the  time  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott. 

"Wandering  Willie's  Tale,"  though  incorporated 
in  the  romance  of  "  Redgauntlet,"  is  easily  detached, 
and  is  in  every  sense  of  the  term  a  masterpiece.  If 
not  the  best  of  the  twelve,  it  is  excelled  by  none. 
Nowhere  is  Sir  Walter's  genius  more  brilliantly  dis- 
played,—  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  characters 


228527 


vi  PREFACE 

and  motives  of  his  fellow-men  and  the  kindly  dis- 
position which  could  make  due  allowance  for  their 
frailties  and  follies  in  relating  them. 

The  tale  which  follows,  James  Hogg's  "Mys- 
terious Bride,"  is  the  best  of  those  weird  legends, 
purporting  to  be  founded  on  local  traditions,  which 
he  told  so  well. 

The  work  of  Charles  Dickens  bulks  largely  in  the 
history  of  English  fiction,  and  he  is  here  represented 
by  four  stories.  They  are  in  four  quite  different 
manners.  In  the  first,  "The  Bagman's  Story," 
there  is  the  rollicking  fun  and  the  youthful  merri- 
ment of  "The  Pickwick  Papers,"  from  which  it  is 
extracted.  "The  Story  of  Richard  Doubledick" 
was  published  at  a  time  when  the  Crimean  War  and 
the  alliance  between  England  and  France  directed 
the  thoughts  of  all  to  the  old  days  of  enmity.  Its 
faults  are  obvious, —  the  over-display  of  emotion, 
the  dramatic  expression  of  virtuous  sentiments,  such 
as  are  to  be  found  in  plenty  in  Robertson's  " Caste" 
and  other  productions  typical  of  the  period,  which 
our  more  reserved  age  sneers  at  as  "Early  Vic- 
torian," but  which  were  undoubtedly  sincere, — 
but  they  are  more  than  redeemed  by  the  noble 
enthusiasm  which  pervades  the  whole  tale.  "Hunt- 
ed Down"  is  the  one  representative  in  this  volume 
of  the  so-called  detective  story.  It  is  an  ugly  name 
• —  why  have  we  not  a  better  in  our  language,  like 


PREFACE  vii 

the  German  Kriminalgeschichte?  "To  be  Taken 
with  a  Grain  of  Salt,"  the  fourth  and  last  of  the 
Dickens  selection,  is  the  ripest  and  most  masterly. 
The  circumstantial  manner  adopted  in  telling  this 
ghost-story  was  initiated  by  Defoe  in  "The  Appa- 
rition of  Mrs.  Veal,"  but  it  is  here  improved  and 
perfected,  and  the  result  is  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind. 

Thackeray's  "Princess's  Tragedy"  could  not  be 
forcibly  removed  from  the  novel  of  "Barry  Lyn- 
don," in  which  it  is  embedded,  without  showing 
rough  edges  here  and  there,  but  I  was  unwilling  to 
leave  unrepresented  so  great  a  name,  and  there  is 
no  other  example  of  the  story  of  intrigue  in  the 
present  volume. 

The  authoress  of  "Cranford"  is  represented  here 
by  two  remarkable  tales,  in  which  beneath  great 
simplicity  and  directness  of  language  the  most 
consummate  art  is  concealed.  I  know  no  more 
moving  tale  in  English  literature  than  "The  Half- 
Brothers,"  none  that  it  is  more  difficult  to  read 
without  emotion;  while  "The  Old  Nurse's  Tale"  is 
among  the  best  ghost-stories  in  the  language. 

What  need  I  say  of  "Rab  and  his  Friends"? 
It  is  known  in  every  English  household;  it  is  the 
homeliest  of  all  famous  short  stories. 

Had  it  not  been  for  copyright  difficulties,  I 
should  have  selected,  to  represent  Stevenson,  "The 
Bottle  Imp"  and  "The  Isle  of  Voices."  They  are 


viii  PREFACE 

not  better  than  the  two  short  stories  included  here, 
but  their  scenes  are  laid  in  a  country  with  which 
Stevenson's  name  will  always  be  associated,  while 
their  plots  have  the  charm  of  entire  novelty.  The 
two  I  have  chosen,  however,  show  his  powers  at  their 
best.  "The  Sire  de  Maletroit's  Door"  exhibits  the 
playful  side,  "Markheim"  the  serious  side,  of  his 
character.  The  latter  story  bears  a  solemn  message 
for  us  all;  the  dialogue  in  which  the  unnamed 
Stranger  gradually  makes  plain  his  Divine  purpose, 
and  stands  revealed  at  last  as  the  Saviour  of  men, 
reaches  an  intensity  unsurpassed  in  literature  and 
may  fittingly  suggest  thoughts  that  will  occupy  our 
minds  long  after  we  have  closed  the  volume. 
The  publishers  have  in  preparation  similar 
selections,  made  by  eminent  critics,  from  the  best 
short  stories  in  the  French,  German,  and  other  lan- 
guages. Many  delightful  tales  will  in  this  way  be 
placed  for  the  first  time  within  the  reach  of  the 
American  public,  and  the  volumes  will  be  found  to 
be  of  the  most  absorbing  interest  by  all  lovers  of 
good  literature.  A  T  n 

A.   J-«.    \j. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

WANDERING  WILLIE'S  TALE  ( 1 8  24)     S*V  Walter  Scott  i 

THE  BAGMAN'S  STORY  (1837)    .      .       Charles  Dickens  33 

THE  MYSTERIOUS  BRIDE  (1830)      .      .       James  Hogg  59 

THE  PRINCESS'S  TRAGEDY  ( 1 844,      W.  M.  Thackeray  87 

THE  OLD  NURSE'S  TALE  (1852)      .      .      Mrs.Gaskell  123 

THE  STORY  OK  RICHARD  DOUBLEDICK  (1854) 

Charles  Dickens  163 

THE  HALF-BROTHERS  (1858)   .      .      .      Mrs.Gaskell  191 

RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  (1858)   .      .     Dr.  John  Brown  213 

HUNTED  DOWN  (1860)  ....       Charles  Dickens'  239 

To  BE  TAKEN  WITH  A  GRAIN  OP  SALT  (1865) 

Charles  Dickens  281 

THE  SIRE  DE  MALETROIT'S  DOOR  (1878) 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  303 

MARKHEIM  (1885)    .      .      .       Robert  Louis  Stevenson  339--"" 


WANDERING  WILLIE'S  TALE 
BY  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT 


WANDERING  WILLIE'S  TALE 

YE  maun  have  heard  of  Sir  Robert  Redgauntlet 
of  that  Ilk,  who  lived  in  these  parts  before  the  dear 
years.  The  country  will  lang  mind  him;  and  our 
fathers  used  to  draw  breath  thick  if  ever  they  heard 
him  named.  He  was  out  wi'  the  Hielandmen  in 
Montrose's  time;  and  again  he  was  in  the  hills  wi' 
Glencairn  in  the  saxteen  hundred  and  fifty- twa;  and 
sae  when  King  Charles  the  Second  came  in,  wha  was 
in  sic  favour  as  the  Laird  of  Redgauntlet?  He  was 
knighted  at  Lonon  court,  wi'  the  King's  ain  sword; 
and  being  a  red-hot  prelatist,  he  came  down  here, 
rampauging  like  a  lion,  with  commissions  of  lieu- 
tenancy (and  of  lunacy,  for  what  I  ken)  to  put  down 
a'  the  Whigs  and  Covenanters  in  the  country.  Wild 
wark  they  made  of  it;  for  the  Whigs  were  as  dour  as 
the  Cavaliers  were  fierce,  and  it  was  which  should 
first  tire  the  other.  Redgauntlet  was  aye  for  the 
strong  hand;  and  his  name  is  ken'd  as  wide  in  the 
country  as  Claverhouse's  or  Tam  Daly  ell's.  Glen, 
nor  dargle,  nor  mountain,  nor  cave,  could  hide  the 
puir  hill-folk  when  Redgauntlet  was  out  with  bugle 
and  bloodhound  after  them,  as  if  they  had  been  sae 
mony  deer.  And  troth  when  they  fand  them,  they 
didna  mak  muckle  mair  ceremony  than  a  Hieland- 
3 


4  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

man  wi'  a  roebuck, —  It  was  just,  "  Will  ye  tak  the 
test?"— if  not— "Make  ready —  present —  fire!" 
and  there  lay  the  recusant. 

Far  and  wide  was  Sir  Robert  hated  and  feared. 
Men  thought  he  had  a  direct  compact  with  Satan 

—  that  he  was  proof  against  steel  —  and  that  bullets 
happed  aff  his  buff-coat  like  hailstanes  from  a  hearth 

—  that  he  had  a  mear  that  would  turn  a  hare  on  the 
side  of  Carriefrawgauns  —  and  muckle  to  the  same 
purpose,  of  whilk  mair  anon.    The  best  blessing  they 
wared  on  him  was,  "Deil  scowp  wi'  Redgauntlet!" 
He  wasna  a  bad  master  to  his  ain  folk,  though,  and 
was  weel  aneuch  liked  by  his  tenants;  and  as  for  the 
lackeys  and  troopers  that  rade  out  wi'  him  to  the 
persecutions,  as  the  Whigs  ca'd  those  killing  times, 
they  wad  hae  drunken  themsel's  blind  to  his  health 
at  ony  time. 

Now  you  are  to  ken  that  my  gudesire  lived  on 
Redgauntlet's  grund  —  they  ca'  the  place  Primrose 
Knowe.  We  had  lived  on  the  grund,  and  under  the 
Redgauntlets,  since  the  riding-days,  and  lang  before. 
It  was  a  pleasant  bit;  and  I  think  the  air  is  callerer 
and  fresher  there  than  ony  where  else  in  the  country. 
It's  a'  deserted  now;  and  I  sat  on  the  broken  door- 
cheek  three  days  since,  and  was  glad  I  couldna  see 
the  plight  the  place  was  in;  but  that's  a'  wide  o'  the 
mark.  There  dwelt  my  gudesire,  Steenie  Steenson, 
a  rambling,  rattling  chieP  he  had  been  in  his  young 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S   TALE  5 

days,  and  could  play  weel  on  the  pipes;  he  was 
famous  at  " Hoopers  and  Girders" —  a'  Cumberland 
couldna  touch  him  at  "  Jockie  La t tin"  — and  he  had 
the  finest  finger  for  the  back-lilt  between  Berwick 
and  Carlisle.  The  like  o'  Steenie  wasna  the  sort  that 
they  made  Whigs  o'.  And  so  he  became  a  Tory,  as 
they  ca'  it,  which  we  now  ca'  Jacobites,  just  out  of  a 
kind  of  needcessity,  that  he  might  belang  to  some 
side  or  other.  He  had  nae  ill-will  to  the  Whig  bodies, 
and  liked  little  to  see  the  blude  rin,  though,  being 
obliged  to  follow  Sir  Robert  in  hunting  and  hoisting, 
watching  and  warding,  he  saw  muckle  mischief,  and 
maybe  did  some  that  he  couldna  avoid. 

Now  Steenie  was  a  kind  of  favorite  with  his 
master,  and  ken'd  a'  the  folks  about  the  castle,  and 
was  often  sent  for  to  play  the  pipes  when  they  were 
at  their  merriment.  Auld  Dougal  MacCallum,  the 
butler,  that  had  followed  Sir  Robert  through  gude 
and  ill,  thick  and  thin,  pool  and  stream,  was  specially 
fond  of  the  pipes,  and  aye  gaed  my  gudesire  his  gude 
word  wi'  the  Laird;  for  Dougal  could  turn  his 
master  round  his  finger. 

Weel,  round  came  the  Revolution,  and  it  had  like 
to  have  broken  the  hearts  baith  of  Dougal  and  his 
master.  But  the  change  was  not  a'thegither  sae 
great  as  they  feared  and  other  folk  thought  for.  The 
Whigs  made  an  unco  era  wing  what  they  wad  do  with 
their  auld  enemies,  and  in  special  wi'  Sir  Robert 


6  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Redgauntlet.  But  there  were  ower  mony  great  folks 
dipped  in  the  same  doings,  to  mak  a  spick  and  span 
new  warld.  So  Parliament  passed  it  a'  ower  easy; 
and  Sir  Robert,  bating  that  he  was  held  to  hunting 
foxes  instead  of  Covenanters,  remained  just  the  man 
he  was.  His  revel  was  as  loud,  and  his  hall  as  weel 
lighted,  as  ever  it  had  been,  though  maybe  he  lacked 
the  fines  of  the  nonconformists,  that  used  to  come  to 
stock  his  larder  and  cellar;  for  it  is  certain  he  began 
to  be  keener  about  the  rents  than  his  tenants  used  to 
find  him  before,  and  they  behoved  to  be  prompt  to 
the  rent-day,  or  else  the  Laird  wasna  pleased.  And 
he  was  sic  an  awesome  body,  that  naebody  cared  to 
anger  him;  for  the  oaths  he  swore,  and  the  rage  that 
he  used  to  get  into,  and  the  looks  that  he  put  on 
made  men  sometimes  think  him  a  devil  incarnate. 

Weel,  my  gudesire  was  nae  manager  —  no  that  he 
was  a  very  great  misguider  —  but  he  hadna  the  sav- 
ing gift,  and  he  got  twa  terms'  rent  in  arrear.  He  got 
the  first  brash  at  Whitsunday  put  ower  wi'  fair  word 
and  piping;  but  when  Martinmas  came,  there  was  a 
summons  from  the  grund-officer  to  come  wi'  the  rent 
on  a  day  preceese,  or  else  Steenie  behoved  to  flit. 
Sair  wark  he  had  to  get  the  siller;  but  he  was  weel 
freended,  and  at  last  he  got  the  haill  scraped  the- 
gither — a  thousand  merks — the  maist  of  it  was  from 
a  neighbor  they  ca'd  Laurie  Lapraik  —  a  sly  tod. 
Laurie  had  walth  o'  gear — could  hunt  wi'  the  hound 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  7 

and  rin  wi'  the  hare — and  be  Whig  or  Tory,saunt  or 
sinner,  as  the  wind  stood.  He  was  a  professor  in  this 
Revolution  warld,  and  he  liked  an  orra  sough  of  this 
warld,  and  a  tune  on  the  pipes  weel  aneuch  at  a  by- 
time;  and  abune  a',  he  thought  he  had  gude  security 
for  the  siller  he  lent  my  gudesire  ower  the  stocking 
at  Primrose  Knowe. 

Away  trots  my  gudesire  to  Redgauntlet  Castle  wi' 
a  heavy  purse  and  a  light  heart,  glad  to  be  out  of  the 
Laird's  danger.  Weel,  the  first  thing  he  learned  at 
the  castle  was,  that  Sir  Robert  had  fretted  himseP 
into  a  fit  of  the  gout,  because  he  did  not  appear  be- 
fore twelve  o'clock.  It  wasna  a'thegither  for  sake  of 
the  money,  Dougal  thought,  but  because  he  didna 
like  to  part  wi'  my  gudesire  aff  the  grund.  Dougal 
was  glad  to  see  Steenie,  and  brought  him  into  the 
great  oak  parlor,  and  there  sat  the  Laird  his  lee- 
some  lane,  excepting  that  he  had  beside  him  a  great, 
ill-favored  jackanape,  that  was  a  special  pet  of  his; 
a  cankered  beast  it  was,  and  mony  an  ill-natured 
trick  it  played — ill  to  please  it  was,  and  easily 
angered — ran  about  the  haill  castle,  chattering  and 
yowling,  and  pinching  and  biting  folk,  specially 
before  ill  weather  or  disturbances  in  the  State.  Sir 
Robert  ca'd  it  Major  Weir,  after  the  warlock  that 
was  burnt;  and  few  folk  liked  either  the  name  or 
the  conditions  of  the  creature — they  thought  there 
was  something  in  it  by  ordinar — and  my  gudesire 


8  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

was  not  just  easy  in  mind  when  the  door  shut  on 
him,  and  he  saw  himself  in  the  room  wi'  naebody 
but  the  Laird,  Dougal  MacCallum,  and  the  Major, 
a  thing  that  hadna  chanced  to  him  before. 

Sir  Robert  sat,  or,  I  should  say,  lay,  in  a  great 
arm-chair,  wi'  his  grand  velvet  gown,  and  his  feet  on 
a  cradle;  for  he  had  baith  gout  and  gravel,  and  his 
face  looked  as  gash  and  ghastly  as  Satan's.  Major 
Weir  sat  opposite  to  him,  in  a  red  laced  coat  and  the 
Laird's  wig  on  his  head;  and  aye  as  Sir  Robert 
girned  wi'  pain,  the  jackanape  girned  too,  like  a 
sheep's  head  between  a  pair  of  tangs — an  ill-faur'd, 
fearsome  couple  they  were.  The  Laird's  Duff-coat 
was  hung  on  a  pin  behind  him,  and  his  broadsword 
and  his  pistols  within  reach;  for  he  keepit  up  the 
auld  fashion  of  having  the  weapons  ready  and  a 
horse  saddled  day  and  night,  just  as  he  used  to  do 
when  he  was  able  to  loup  on  horseback,  and  away 
after  ony  of  the  hill-folk  he  could  get  speerings  of. 
Some  said  it  was  for  fear  of  the  Whigs  taking  ven- 
geance, but  I  judge  it  was  just  his  auld  custom — he 
wasna  gien  to  fear  onything.  The  rental-book,  wi' 
its  black  cover  and  brass  clasps,  was  lying  beside 
him;  and  a  book  of  sculduddery  sangs  was  put 
betwixt  the  leaves,  to  keep  it  open  at  the  place  where 
it  bore  evidence  against  the  goodman  of  Primrose 
Knowe,  as  behind  the  hand  with  his  mails  and 
duties.  Sir  Robert  gave  my  gudesire  a  look,  as  if  he 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  9 

would  have  withered  his  heart  in  his  bosom.  Ye 
maun  ken  he  had  a  way  of  bending  his  brows,  that 
men  saw  the  visible  mark  of  a  horse-shoe  in  his  fore- 
head, deep  dinted,  as  if  it  had  been  stamped  there. 

"Are  ye  come  light-handed,  ye  son  of  a  toom 
whistle?"  said  Sir  Robert.  "Zounds!  if  you  are  —  " 

My  gudesire,  with  as  gude  a  countenance  as  he 
could  put  on,  made  a  leg,  and  placed  the  bag  of 
money  on  the  table  wi'  a  dash,  like  a  man  that  does 
something  clever.  The  Laird  drew  it  to  him  hastily 
—"Is  it  all  here,  Steenie,  man?" 

"Your  honor  will  find  it  right,"  said  my  gudesire. 

"Here,  Dougal,"  said  the  Laird,  "gie  Steenie  a 
tass  of  brandy  down-stairs,  till  I  count  the  siller  and 
write  the  receipt." 

But  they  werena  weel  out  of  the  room  when  Sir 
Robert  gied  a  yelloch  that  garred  the  castle  rock. 
Back  ran  Dougal — in  flew  the  livery-men — yell  on 
yell  gied  the  Laird,  ilk  ane  mair  awfu'  than  the  ither. 
My  gudesire  knew  not  whether  to  stand  or  flee,  but 
he  ventured  back  into  the  parlor,  where  a'  was  gaun 
hirdy-girdy — naebody  to  say  "come  in"  or  "gae 
out."  Terribly  the  Laird  roared  for  cauld  water  to 
his  feet  and  wine  to  cool  his  throat;  and  Hell,  hell, 
hell,  and  its  flames  was  aye  the  word  in  his  mouth. 
They  brought  him  water,  and  when  they  plunged 
his  swollen  feet  into  the  tub  he  cried  out  it  was 
burning;  and  folk  said  that  it  did  bubble  and 


IO  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

sparkle  like  a  seething  cauldron.  He  flung  the  cup 
at  Dougal's  head,  and  said  he  had  given  him  blood 
instead  of  Burgundy;  and,  sure  aneuch,  the  lass 
washed  clotted  blood  aff  the  carpet  the  neist  day. 
The  jackanape  they  ca'd  Major  Weir,  it  jibbered 
and  cried  as  if  it  was  mocking  its  master;  my  gude- 
sire's  head  was  like  to  turn — he  forgot  baith  siller 
and  receipt,  and  down-stairs  he  banged;  but  as  he 
ran,  the  shrieks  came  faint  and  fainter;  there  was 
a  deep-drawn  shivering  groan,  and  word  gaed 
through  the  castle  that  the  Laird  was  dead. 

Weel,  away  came  my  gudesire  wi'  his  finger  in 
his  mouth,  and  his  best  hope  was,  that  Dougal  had 
seen  the  money-bag,  and  heard  the  Laird  speak  of 
writing  the  receipt.  The  young  Laird,  now  Sir  John, 
came  from  Edinburgh  to  see  things  put  to  rights. 
Sir  John  and  his  father  never  gree'd  weel.  Sir  John 
had  been  bred  an  advocate,  and  afterwards  sat  in 
the  last  Scots  Parliament  and  voted  for  the  Union, 
having  gotten,  it  was  thought,  a  rug  of  the  compen- 
sations— if  his  father  could  have  come  out  of  his 
grave,  he  would  have  brained  him  for  it  on  his  awn 
hearthstane.  Some  thought  it  was  easier  counting 
with  the  auld  rough  knight  than  the  fair-spoken 
young  ane — but  mair  of  that  anon. 

Dougal  MacCallum,  poor  body,  neither  grat  nor 
grained,  but  gaed  about  the  house  looking  like  a 
corpse,  but  directing,  as  was  his  duty,  a'  the  order 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  n 

of  the  grand  funeral.  Now,  Dougal  looked  aye  waur 
and  waur  when  night  was  coming,  and  was  aye  the 
last  to  gang  to  his  bed,  whilk  was  in  a  little  round 
just  opposite  the  chamber  of  dais,  whilk  his  master 
occupied  while  he  was  living,  and  where  he  now  lay 
in  state,  as  they  ca'd  it,  weel-a-day!  The  night 
before  the  funeral,  Dougal  could  keep  his  awn 
counsel  nae  langer;  he  came  doun  with  his  proud 
spirit,  and  fairly  asked  auld  Hutcheon  to  sit  in  his 
room  with  him  for  an  hour.  When  they  were  in  the 
round,  Dougal  took  ae  tass  of  brandy  to  himser 
and  gave  another  to  Hutcheon,  and  wished  him  all 
health  and  lang  life,  and  said  that,  for  himser,  he 
wasna  lang  for  this  world;  for  that  every  night 
since'  Sir  Robert's  death  his  silver  call  had  sounded 
from  the  state-chamber,  just  as  it  used  to  do  at 
nights  in  his  lifetime,  to  call  Dougal  to  help  to  turn 
him  in  his  bed.  Dougal  said  that,  being  alone  with 
the  dead  on  that  floor  of  the  tower  (for  naebody 
cared  to  wake  Sir  Robert  Redgauntlet  like  another 
corpse),  he  had  never  daured  to  answer  the  call,  but 
that  now  his  conscience  checked  him  for  neglecting 
his  duty;  for,  "though  death  breaks  service,"  said 
MacCallum/"it  shall  never  break  my  service  to 
Sir  Robert;  and  I  will  answer  his  next  whistle,  so 
be  you  will  stand  by  me,  Hutcheon." 

Hutcheon  had  nae  will  to  the  wark,  but  he  had 
stood  by  Dougal  in  battle  and  broil,  and  he  wad 


12  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

not  fail  him  at  this  pinch;  so  down  the  carles  sat 
ower  a  stoup  of  brandy,  and  Hutcheon,  who  was 
something  of  a  clerk,  would  have  read  a  chapter  of 
the  Bible;  but  Dougal  would  hear  naething  but  a 
blaud  of  Davie  Lindsay,  whilk  was  the  waur  prep- 
aration. 

When  midnight  came,  and  the  house  was  quiet 
as  the  grave,  sure  enough  the  silver  whistle  sounded 
as  sharp  and  shrill  as  if  Sir  Robert  was  blowing  it, 
and  up  got  the  twa  auld  serving-men,  and  tottered 
into  the  room  where  the  dead  man  lay.  Hutcheon 
saw  eneuch  at  the  first  glance;  for  there  were  torches 
in  the  room,  which  showed  him  the  foul  fiend,  in  his 
ain  shape,  sitting  on  the  Laird's  coffin!  Ower  he 
couped  as  if  he  had  been  dead.  He  could  not  tell 
how  lang  he  lay  in  a  trance  at  the  door,  but  when  he 
gathered  himself,  he  cried  on  his  neighbor,  and 
getting  nae  answer,  raised  the  house,  when  Dougal 
was  found  lying  dead  within  twa  steps  of  the  bed 
where  his  master's  coffin  was  placed.  As  for  the 
whistle,  it  was  gane  anes  and  aye;  but  mony  a  time 
was  it  heard  at  the  top  of  the  house  on  the  bartizan 
and  amang  the  auld  chimneys  and  turrets  where  the 
howlets  have  their  nests.  Sir  John  hushed  the 
matter  up,  and  the  funeral  passed  over  without  mair 
bogle  work. 

But  when  a'  was  ower,  and  the  Laird  was  be- 
ginning to  settle  his  affairs,  every  tenant  was  called 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  13 

up  for  his  arrears,  and  my  gudesire  for  the  full  sum 
that  stood  against  him  in  the  rental-book.  Weel, 
away  he  trots  to  the  castle  to  tell  his  story,  and 
there  he  is  introduced  to  Sir  John,  sitting  in  his 
father's  chair,  in  deep  mourning,  with  weepers  and 
hanging  cravat,  and  a  small  walking  rapier  by  his 
side,  instead  of  the  auld  broadsword  that  had  a 
hundredweight  of  steel  about  it,  what  with  blade, 
chape,  and  basket-hilt.  I  have  heard  their  commun- 
ings  so  often  tauld  ower,  that  I  almost  think  I  was 
there  mysel',  though  I  couldna  be  born  at  the  time. 
(In  fact,  Alan,  my  companion  mimicked,  with  a 
good  deal  of  humor,  the  flattering,  conciliating  tone 
of  the  tenant's  address,  and  the  hypocritical  melan- 
choly of  the  Laird's  reply.  His  grandfather,  he 
said,  had,  while  he  spoke,  his  eye  fixed  on  the 
rental-book,  as  if  it  were  a  mastiff-dog  that  he  was 
afraid  would  spring  up  and  bite  him.) 

"I  wuss  ye  joy,  sir,  of  the  head  seat,  and  the 
white  loaf,  and  the  braid  lairdship.  Your  father 
was  a  kind  man  to  friends  and  followers;  muckle 
grace  to  you,  Sir  John,  to  fill  his  shoon — his  boots, 
I  suld  say,  for  he  seldom  wore  shoon,  unless  it  were 
muils  when  he  had  the  gout." 

"Ay,  Steenie,"  quoth  the  Laird,  sighing  deeply, 
and  putting  his  napkin  to  his  een,  "his  was  a  sudden 
call,  and  he  will  be  missed  in  the  country;  no  time 
to  set  his  house  in  order — weel  prepared  Godward, 


14  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

no  doubt,  which  is  the  root  of  the  matter — but  left 
us  behind  a  tangled  hesp  to  wind,  Steenie. — Hem! 
hem!  We  maun  go  to  business,  Steenie;  much  to 
do,  and  little  time  to  do  it  in." 

Here  he  opened  the  fatal  volume.  I  have  heard 
of  a  thing  they  call  Doomsday-book — I  am  clear 
it  has  been  a  rental  of  back-ganging  tenants. 

"Stephen,"  said  Sir  John,  still  in  the  same  soft, 
sleekit  tone  of  voice — "Stephen  Stevenson,  or 
Steenson,  ye  are  down  here  for  a  year's  rent  behind 
the  hand — due  at  last  term." 

Stephen. — "Please  your  honor,  Sir  John,  I  paid 
it  to  your  father." 

Sir  John. — "Ye  took  a  receipt,  then,  doubtless, 
Stephen;  and  can  produce  it?" 

Stephen. — "Indeed,  I  hadna  time,  an  it  like  your 
honor;  for  nae  sooner  had  I  set  doun  the  siller,  and 
just  as  his  honor,  Sir  Robert,  that's  gaen,  drew  it 
till  him  to  count  it,  and  write  out  the  receipt,  he 
was  taen  wi'  the  pains  that  removed  him." 

"That  was  unlucky,"  said  Sir  John,  after  a  pause. 
"But  ye  maybe  paid  it  in  the  presence  of  somebody. 
I  want  but  a  tails  quails  evidence,  Stephen.  I  would 
go  ower  strictly  to  work  with  no  poor  man." 

Stephen. — "Troth,  Sir  John,  there  was  naebody  in 
the  room  but  Dougal  MacCallum,  the  butler.  But, 
as  your  honor  kens,  he  has  e'en  followed  his  auld 
master." 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  15 

"Very  unlucky  again,  Stephen,"  said  Sir  John, 
without  altering  his  voice  a  single  note.  "The  man 
to  whom  ye  paid  the  money  is  dead — and  the  man 
who  witnessed  the  payment  is  dead,  too — and  the 
siller  which  should  have  been  to  the  fore,  is  neither 
seen  nor  heard  tell  of  in  the  repositories.  How  am 
I  to  believe  a'  this?" 

Stephen. — "I  dinna  ken,  your  honor;  but  there 
is  a  bit  memorandum  note  of  the  very  coins;  for, 
God  help  me!  I  had  to  borrow  out  of  twenty 
purses;  and  I  am  sure  that  ilka  man  there  set  down 
will  take  his  grit  oath  for  what  purpose  I  borrowed 
the  money." 

Sir  John. — "I  have  little  doubt  ye  borrowed  the 
money,  Steenie.  It  is  the  payment  to  my  father  that 
I  want  to  have  some  proof  of." 

Stephen. — "The  siller  maunbe  about  the  house,  Sir 
John.  And  since  your  honor  never  got  it,  and  his 
honor  that  was  canna  have  taen  it  wi'  him,  maybe 
some  of  the  family  may  have  seen  it." 

Sir  John. — "We  will  examine  the  servants, 
Stephen;  that  is  but  reasonable." 

But  lackey  and  lass,  and  page  and  groom,  all 
denied  stoutly  that  they  had  ever  seen  such  a  bag 
of  money  as  my  gudesire  described.  What  was 
waur,  he  had  unluckily  not  mentioned  to  any  living 
soul  of  them  his  purpose  of  paying  his  rent.  Ae 
quean  had  noticed  something  under  his  arm,  but 
she  took  it  for  the  pipes. 


l6  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Sir  John  Redgauntlet  ordered  the  servants  out  of 
the  room,  and  then  said  to  my  gudesire,  "Now, 
Steenie,  ye  see  ye  have  fair  play;  and  as  I  have 
little  doubt  ye  ken  better  where  to  find  the  siller 
than  ony  other  body,  I  beg  in  fair  terms,  and  for 
your  own  sake,  that  you  will  end  this  fasherie;  for, 
Stephen,  ye  maun  pay  or  flit." 

"The  Lord  forgie  your  opinion,"  said  Stephen, 
driven  almost  to  his  wit's  end- — "I  am  an  honest 
man." 

"So  am  I,  Stephen,"  said  his  honor,  "and  so  are 
all  the  folks  in  the  house,  I  hope.  But  if  there  be  a 
knave  amongst  us,  it  must  be  he  that  tells  the  story 
he  cannot  prove."  He  paused,  and  then  added 
mair  sternly,  "If  I  understand  your  trick,  sir,  you 
want  to  take  advantage  of  some  malicious  reports 
concerning  things  in  this  family,  and  particularly 
respecting  my  father's  sudden  death,  thereby  to 
cheat  me  out  of  the  money,  and  perhaps  take  away 
my  character,  by  insinuating  that  I  have  received 
the  rent  I  am  demanding. —  Where  do  you  suppose 
this  money  to  be?— I  insist  upon  knowing." 

My  gudesire  saw  everything  look  so  muckle 
against  him  that  he  grew  nearly  desperate — how- 
ever, he  shifted  from  one  foot  to  another,  looked  to 
every  corner  of  the  room,  and  made  no  answer. 

"Speak  out,  sirrah,"  said  the  Laird,  assuming  a 
look  of  his  father's,  a  very  particular  ane  which  he 


WANDERING   WILLIE'S   TALE  17 

had  when  he  was  angry — it  seemed  as  if  the  wrinkles 
of  his  frown  made  that  self-same  fearful  shape  of  a 
horse's  shoe  in  the  middle  of  his  brow; — "Speak 
out,  sir!  I  will  know  your  thoughts; — do  you  sup- 
pose that  I  have  this  money?" 

"Far  be  it  frae  me  to  say  so,"  said  Stephen. 

"Do  you  charge  any  of  my  people  with  having 
taken  it?" 

"I  wad  be  laith  to  charge  them  that  may  be 
innocent,"  said  my  gudesire;  "and  if  there  be  any 
one  that  is  guilty,  I  have  nae  proof." 

"Somewhere  the  money  must  be,  if  there  is  a 
word  of  truth  in  your  story,"  said  Sir  John;  "I  ask 
where  you  think  it  is — and  demand  a  correct 
answer." 

"In  hell,  if  you  will  have  my  thoughts  of  it," 
said  my  gudesire,  driven  to  extremity— "in  hell! 
with  your  father,  his  jackanape,  and  his  silver 
whistle." 

Down  the  stairs  he  ran  (for  the  parlor  was  nae 
place  for  him  after  such  a  word),  and  he  heard  the 
Laird  swearing  blood  and  wounds  behind  him  as 
fast  as  ever  did  Sir  Robert,  and  roaring  for  the  bailie 
and  the  baron-officer. 

Away  rode  my  gudesire  to  his  chief  creditor  (him 
they  ca'd  Laurie  Lapraik),  to  try  if  he  could  make 
ony thing  out  of  him;  but  when  he  tauld  his  story, 
he  got  but  the  worst  word  in  his  wame — thief, 


l8  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

beggar,  and  dyvour  were  the  safest  terms;  and  to 
the  boot  of  these  hard  terms  Laurie  brought  up  the 
auld  story  of  his  dipping  his  hand  in  the  blood  of 
God's  saunts,  just  as  if  a  tenant  could  have  helped 
riding  with  the  laird,  and  that  a  laird  like  Sir  Robert 
Redgauntlet.  My  gudesire  was  by  this  time  far 
beyond  the  bounds  of  patience,  and,  while  he  and 
Laurie  were  at  deil  speed  the  liars,  he  was  wanchancy 
aneuch  to  abuse  Lapraik's  doctrine  as  weel  as  the 
man,  and  said  things  that  garred  folks'  flesh  grue 
that  heard  them; — he  wasna  just  himsel',  and  he 
had  lived  wi'  a  wild  set  in  his  day. 

At  last  they  parted,  and  my  gudesire  was  to  ride 
hame  through  the  wood  of  Pitmurkie,  that  is  a' 
fu'  of  black  firs,  as  they  say. — I  ken  the  wood,  but 
the  firs  may  be  black  or  white  for  what  I  can  tell. 
At  the  entry  of  the  wood  there  is  a  wild  common, 
and  on  the  edge  of  the  common  a  little  lonely  change- 
house,  that  was  keepit  then  by  an  ostler  wife,  they 
suld  hae  ca'd  her  Tibbie  Faw,  and  there  puir  Steenie 
cried  for  a  mutchkin  of  brandy,  for  he  had  had  no 
refreshment  the  haill  day.  Tibbie  was  earnest  wi3 
him  to  take  a  bit  of  meat,  but  he  couldna  think  o't, 
nor  would  he  take  his  foot  out  of  the  stirrup,  and 
took  off  the  brandy  wholly  at  twa  draughts,  and 
named  a  toast  at  each: — the  first  was,  the  memory 
of  Sir  Robert  Redgauntlet,  and  might  he  never  lie 
quiet  in  his  grave  till  he  had  righted  his  poor  bond- 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  19 

tenant;  and  the  second  was,  a  health  to  Man's 
Enemy,  if  he  would  but  get  him  back  the  poke  of 
siller,  or  tell  him  what  came  o't,  for  he  saw  the  haill 
world  was  like  to  regard  him  as  a  thief  and  a  cheat, 
and  he  took  that  waur  than  even  the  ruin  of  his 
house  and  hauld. 

On  he  rode,  little  caring  where.  It  was  a  dark 
night  turned,  and  the  trees  made  it  yet  darker,  and 
he  let  the  beast  take  its  ain  road  through  the  wood: 
when  all  of  a  sudden,  from  tired  and  wearied  that 
it  was  before,  the  nag  began  to  spring,  and  flee,  and 
stend,  that  my  gudesire  could  hardly  keep  the 
saddle. —  Upon  the  whilk  a  horseman,  suddenly 
riding  up  beside  him,  said,  "  That's  a  mettle  beast 
of  yours,  freend;  will  you  sell  him?" — So  saying, 
he  touched  the  horse's  neck  with  his  riding-wand, 
and  it  fell  into  its  auld  heigh-ho  of  a  stumbling  trot. 
"But  his  spunk's  soon  out  of  him,  I  think,"  con- 
tinued the  stranger,  "and  that  is  like  mony  a  man's 
courage,  that  thinks  he  wad  do  great  things  till  he 
comes  to  the  proof." 

My  gudesire  scarce  listened  to  this,  but  spurred 
his  horse,  with  "Gude  e'en  to  you,  freend." 

But  it's  like  the  stranger  was  ane  that  doesna 
lightly  yield  his  point;  for,  ride  as  Steenie  liked,  he 
was  aye  beside  him  at  the  self-same  pace.  At  last 
my  gudesire,  Steenie  Steenson,  grew  half  angry, 
and,  to  say  the  truth,  half  feared. 


20  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"What  is  it  that  ye  want  with  me,  freend?"  he 
said.  "If  ye  be  a  robber,  I  have  nae  money;  if  ye 
be  a  leal  man,  wanting  company,  I  have  nae  heart 
to  mirth  or  speaking;  and  if  you  want  to  ken  the 
road,  I  scarce  ken  it  myseP." 

"If  you  will  tell  me  your  grief,"  said  the  stranger, 
"I  am  one  that,  though  I  have  been  sair  misca'd  in 
the  world,  am  the  only  hand  for  helping  my  freends." 

So  my  gudesire,  to  ease  his  ain  heart  mair  than 
from  any  hope  of  help,  told  him  the  story  from 
beginning  to  end. 

"It's  a  hard  pinch,"  said  the  stranger;  "but  I 
think  I  can  help  you." 

"If  you  could  lend  the  money,  sir,  and  take  a  lang 
day  —  I  ken  nae  other  help  on  earth,"  said  my  gude- 
sire. 

"But  there  may  be  some  under  the  earth,"  said 
the  stranger.  "Come,  I'll  be  frank  wi'  you;  I 
could  lend  you  the  money  on  bond,  but  you  would 
maybe  scruple  my  terms.  Now,  I  can  tell  you  that 
your  auld  La^rd  is  disturbed  in  his  grave  by  your 
curses  and  the  wailing  of  your  family,  and  if  ye  daur 
venture  to  go  to  see  him,  he  will  give  you  the 
receipt." 

My  gudesire's  hair  stood  on  end  at  this  proposal, 
but  he  thought  his  companion  might  be  some  hu- 
morsome  chield  that  was  trying  to  frighten  him,  and 
might  end  with  lending  him  the  money.  Besides, 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  2I 

he  was  bauld  wi'  brandy  and  desperate  wi'  distress; 
and  he  said  he  had  courage  to  go  to  the  gate  of  hell 
and  a  step  farther  for  that  receipt. —  The  stranger 
laughed. 

Weel,  they  rode  on  through  the  thickest  of  the 
wood,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the  horse  stopped  at  the 
door  of  a  great  house;  and,  but  that  he  knew  the 
place  was  ten  miles  off,  my  father  would  have 
thought  he  was  at  Redgauntlet  Castle.  They  rode 
into  the  outer  court-yard,  through  the  muckle 
faulding  yetts,  and  aneath  the  auld  portcullis;  and 
the  whole  front  of  the  house  was  lighted,  and  there 
were  pipes  and  riddles,  and  as  much  dancing  and 
deray  within  as  used  to  be  at  Sir  Robert's  house  at 
Pace  and  Yule,  and  such  high  seasons.  They  lap 
off,  and  my  gudesire,  as  seemed  to  him,  fastened  his 
horse  to  the  very  ring  he  had  tied  him  to  that  morn- 
ing, when  he  gaed  to  wait  on  the  young  Sir  John. 

"God!"  said  my  gudesire,  "if  Sir  Robert's  death 
be  but  a  dream!" 

He  knocked  at  the  ha'  door  just  as  he  was  wont, 
and  his  auld  acquaintance,  Dougal  MacCallum — 
just  after  his  wont,  too — came  to  open  the  door, 
and  said,  "Piper  Steenie,  are  ye  there,  lad?  Sir 
Robert  has  been  crying  for  you." 

My  gudesire  was  like  a  man  in  a  dream — he 
looked  for  the  stranger,  but  he  was  gane  for  the 
time.  At  last  he  just  tried  to  say,  "Ha!  Dougal 


22  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

Driveower,  are  ye  living?  I  thought  ye  had  been 
dead." 

"Never  fash  yourseP  wi'  me,"  said  Dougal,  "but 
look  to  yourseP;  and  see  that  ye  tak  naething  frae 
onybody  here,  neither  meat,  drink,  or  siller,  except 
just  the  receipt  that  is  your  ain." 

So  saying,  he  led  the  way  out  through  halls  and 
trances  that  were  weel  ken'd  to  my  gudesire,  and 
into  the  auld  oak  parlor;  and  there  was  as  much 
singing  of  profane  sangs,  and  birling  of  red  wine,  and 
speaking  blasphemy  and  sculduddery,  as  had  ever 
been  in  Redgauntlet  Castle  when  it  was  at  the 
blithest. 

But,  Lord  take  us  in  keeping,  what  a  set  of 
ghastly  revellers  they  were  that  sat  around  that 
table! — My  gudesire  ken'd  mony  that  had  long 
before  gane  to  their  place,  for  often  had  he  piped 
to  the  most  part  in  the  hall  of  Redgauntlet.  There 
was  the  fierce  Middleton,  and  the  dissolute  Rothes, 
and  the  crafty  Lauderdale;  and  Dalyell,  with  his 
bald  head  and  a  beard  to  his  girdle;  and  Earlshall, 
with  Cameron's  blude  on  his  hand;  and  wild  Bon- 
shaw,  that  tied  blessed  Mr.  Cargill's  limbs  till  the 
blude  sprung;  and  Dunbarton  Douglas,  the  twice- 
turned  traitor  baith  to  country  and  king.  There 
was  the  Bluidy  Advocate  MacKenyie,  who,  for  his 
worldly  wit  and  wisdom,  had  been  to  the  rest  as  a 
god.  And  there  was  Claverhouse,  as  beautiful  as 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  23 

when  he  lived,  with  his  long,  dark,  curled  locks 
streaming  down  over  his  laced  buff  coat,  and  his 
left-hand  always  on  his  right  spule-blade,  to  hide 
the  wound  that  the  silver  bullet  had  made.  He  sat 
apart  from  them  all,  and  looked  at  them  with  a 
melancholy,  haughty  countenance;  while  the  rest 
hallooed,  and  sung,  and  laughed,  that  the  room 
rang.  But  their  smiles  were  fearfully  contorted 
from  time  to  time;  and  their  laugh  passed  into  such 
wild  sounds  as  made  my  gudesire's  very  nails  grow 
blue,  and  chilled  the  marrow  in  his  banes. 

They  that  waited  at  the  table  were  just  the 
wicked  serving-men  and  troopers  that  had  done 
their  work  and  cruel  bidding  on  earth.  There  was 
the  Lang  Lad  of  the  Nether  town,  that  helped  to 
take  Argyle;  and  the  Bishop's  summoner,  that  they 
called  the  Deil's  Rattlebag;  and  the  wicked  guards- 
men in  their  laced  coats;  and  the  savage  Highland 
Amorites,  that  shed  blood  like  water;  and  mony  a 
proud  serving-man,  haughty  of  heart  and  bloody 
of  hand,  cringing  to  the  rich,  and  making  them 
wickeder  than  they  would  be,  grinding  the  poor  to 
powder,  when  the  rich  had  broken  them  to  frag- 
ments. And  mony,  mony  mair  were  coming  and 
ganging,  a'  as  busy  in  their  vocation  as  if  they  had 
been  alive. 

Sir  Robert  Redgauntlet,  in  the  midst  of  a'  this 
fearful  riot,  cried,  wi'  a  voice  like  thunder,  on 


24  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

Steenie  Piper  to  come  to  the  board-head  where  he 
was  sitting;  his  legs  stretched  out  before  him  and 
swathed  up  with  flannel,  with  his  holster  pistols 
aside  him,  while  the  great  broadsword  rested  against 
his  chair,  just  as  my  gudesire  had  seen  him  the  last 
time  upon  earth  —  the  very  cushion  for  the  jacka- 
nape  was  close  to  him,  but  the  creature  itsel'  was  not 
there  —  it  wasna  its  hour,  it's  likely;  for  he  heard 
them  say,  as  he  came  forward,  "Is  not  the  Major 
come  yet?"  And  another  answered,  "  The  jackanape 
will  be  here  betimes  the  morn."  And  wrhen  my 
gudesire  came  forward,  Sir  Robert,  or  his  ghaist,  or 
the  deevil  in  his  likeness,  said,  "Weel,  piper,  hae  ye 
settled  wi'  my  son  for  the  year's  rent?" 

With  much  ado  my  father  gat  breath  to  say  that 
Sir  John  would  not  settle  without  his  honor's  receipt. 

"Ye  shall  hae  that  for  a  tune  of  the  pipes,  Steenie," 
said  the  appearance  of  Sir  Robert—"  Play  us  up 
1  Weel  hoddled,  Lucky.'7' 

Now  this  was  a  tune  my  gudesire  learned  frae  a 
warlock,  that  heard  it  when  they  were  worshipping 
Satan  at  their  meetings;  and  my  gudesire  had  some- 
times played  it  at  the  ranting  suppers  in  Red- 
gauntlet  Castle,  but  never  very  willingly ;  and  now 
he  grew  cauld  at  the  very  name  of  it,  and  said,  for 
excuse,  he  hadna  his  pipes  wi'  him. 

"MacCallum,  ye  limb  of  Beelzebub,"  said  the 
fearfu'  Sir  Robert,  "bring  Steenie  the  pipes  that  I 
am  keeping  for  him!" 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S    TALE  25 

MacCallum  brought  a  pair  of  pipes  might  have 
served  the  piper  of  Donald  of  the  Isles.  But  he  gave 
my  gudesire  a  nudge  as  he  offered  them:  and 
looking  secretly  and  closely  Steenie  saw  that  the 
chanter  was  of  steel  and  heated  to  a  white  heat;  so 
he  had  fair  warning  not  to  trust  his  fingers  with  it. 
So  he  excused  himself  again,  and  said  he  was  faint 
and  frightened,  and  had  not  wind  aneuch  to  fill  the 
bag. 

"Then  ye  maun  eat  and  drink,  Steenie,"  said  the 
figure;  "for  we  do  little  else  here;  and  it's  ill 
speaking  between  a  fu'  man  and  a  fasting." 

Now  these  were  the  very  words  that  the  bloody 
Earl  of  Douglas  said  to  keep  the  King's  messenger 
in  hand  while  he  cut  the  head  off  MacLellan  of 
Bombie  at  the  Threave  Castle,  and  that  put  Steenie 
mair  and  mair  on  his  guard.  So  he  spoke  up  like  a 
man,  and  said  he  came  neither  to  eat,  or  drink,  Of 
make  minstrelsy,  but  simply  for  his  ain  —  to  ken 
what  was  come  o'  the  money  he  had  paid,  and  to 
get  a  discharge  for  it;  and  he  was  so  stout-hearted 
by  this  time  that  he  charged  Sir  Robert  for  con- 
science' sake  —  (he  had  no  power  to  say  the  holy 
name)  —  and  as  he  hoped  for  peace  and  rest,  to 
spread  no  snares  for  him,  but  just  to  give  him  his  ain. 

The  appearance  gnashed  its  teeth  and  laughed, 
but  it  took  from  a  large  pocket-book  the  receipt  and 
handed  it  to  Steenie.  "There  is  your  receipt,  ye 


26  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

pitiful  cur;  and  for  the  money,  my  dog- whelp  of  a 
son  may  go  look  for  it  in  the  Cat's  Cradle." 

My  gudesire  uttered  mony  thanks,  and  was  about 
to  retire,  when  Sir  Robert  roared  aloud,  "Stop, 
though,  thou  sack-doudling  son  of  a  whore!  I  am 
not  done  with  thee.  HERE  we  do  nothing  for 
nothing;  and  you  must  return  on  this  very  day 
twelvemonth,  to  pay  your  master  the  homage  that 
you  owe  me  for  my  protection." 

My  father's  tongue  was  loosed  of  a  suddenty, 
and  he  said  aloud,  "I  refer  mysel'  to  God's  pleasure 
and  not  to  yours. 

He  had  no  sooner  uttered  the  word  than  all  was 
dark  around  him;  and  he  sunk  on  the  earth  with 
such  a  sudden  shock  that  he  lost  both  breath  and 
sense. 

How  lang  Steenie  lay  there  he  could  not  tell; 
but  when  he  came  to  himsel'  he  was  lying  in  the 
auld  kirkyard  of  Redgauntlet  parochine,  just  at  the 
door  of  the  family  aisle,  and  the  scutcheon  of  the 
auld  knight,  Sir  Robert,  hanging  over  his  head. 
There  was  a  deep  morning  fog  on  grass  and  grave- 
stane  around  him,  and  his  horse  was  feeding  quietly 
beside  the  minister's  twa  cows.  Steenie  would  have 
thought  the  whole  was  a  dream,  but  he  had  the 
receipt  in  his  hand,  fairly  written  and  signed  by  the 
auld  Laird;  only  the  last  letters  of  his  name  were  a 
little  disorderly,  written  like  one  seized  with  sudden 
pain.  . 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S   TALE  27 

Sorely  troubled  in  his  mind,  he  left  that  dreary 
place,  rode  through  the  mist  to  Redgauntlet  Castle, 
and  with  much  ado  he  got  speech  of  the  Laird. 

"Well,  you  dyvour  bankrupt,"  was  the  first  word, 
"have  you  brought  me  my  rent?" 

"No,"  answered  my  gudesire,  "I  have  not;  but 
I  have  brought  your  honor  Sir  Robert's  receipt  for 
it." 

"How,  sirrah? —  Sir  Robert's  receipt! —  You  told 
me  he  had  not  given  you  one." 

"Will  your  honor  please  to  see  if  that  bit  line  is 
right?" 

Sir  John  looked  at  every  line  and  at  every  letter 
with  much  attention,  and  at  last  at  the  date,  which 
my  gudesire  had  not  observed, — "From  my  ap- 
pointed place"  he  read,  "this  twenty-fifth  of  Novem- 
ber.— What!—  That  is  yesterday!— Villain,  thou 
must  have  gone  to  hell  for  this!" 

"I  got  it  from  your  honor's  father  —  whether  he 
be  in  heaven  or  hell,  I  know  not,"  said  Steenie. 

"I  will  delate  you  for  a  warlock  to  the  Privy 
Council!"  said  Sir  John.  "I  will  send  you  to  your 
master,  the  devil,  with  the  help  of  a  tar-barrel  and  a 
torch!" 

"I  intend  to  delate  mysel'  to  the  presbytery," 
said  Steenie,  "and  tell  them  all  I  have  seen  last 
night,  whilk  are  things  fitter  for  them  to  judge  of 
than  a  borrel  man  like  me." 


28  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Sir  John  paused,  composed  himseP,  and  desired 
to  hear  the  full  history;  and  my  gudesire  told  it  him 
from  point  to  point,  as  I  have  told  it  you  —  word 
for  word,  neither  more  nor  less. 

Sir  John  was  silent  again  for  a  long  time,  and  at 
last  he  said,  very  composedly,  "Steenie,  this  story 
of  yours  concerns  the  honor  of  many  a  noble  family 
besides  mine;  and  if  it  be  a  leasing-making  to  keep 
yourself  out  of  my  danger,  the  least  you  can  expect 
is  to  have  a  red-hot  iron  driven  through  your  tongue 
and  that  will  be  as  bad  as  scauding  your  fingers  wP 
a  red-hot  chanter.  But  yet  it  may  be  true,  Steenie; 
and  if  the  money  cast  up,  I  shall  not  know  what  to 
think  of  it.— But  where  shall  we  find  the  Cat's 
Cradle?  There  are  cats  enough  about  the  old  house, 
but  I  think  they  kitten  without  the  ceremony  of  bed 
or  cradle." 

"  We  were  best  ask  Hutcheon,"  said  my  gudesire; 
"he  kens  a'  the  odd  corners  about  as  weel  as  — 
another  serving-man  that  is  now  gane,  and  that  I 
wad  not  like  to  name." 

Aweel,  Hutcheon,  when  he  was  asked,  told  them 
that  a  ruinous  turret,  lang  disused,  next  to  the 
clock-house,  only  accessible  by  a  ladder,  for  the 
opening  was  on  the  outside  and  far  above  the  battle- 
ments, was  called  of  old  the  Cat's  Cradle. 

"There  will  I  go  immediately,"  said  Sir  John; 
and  he  took  (with  what  purpose  Heaven  kens)  one 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S   TALE  29 

of  his  father's  pistols  from  the  hall  table,  where  they 
had  lain  since  the  night  he  died,  and  hastened  to 
the  battlements. 

It  was  a  dangerous  place  to  climb,  for  the  ladder 
was  auld  and  frail,  and  wanted  ane  or  twa  rounds. 
However,  up  got  Sir  John  and  entered  at  the  turret- 
door,  where  his  body  stopped  the  only  little  light 
that  was  in  the  bit  turret.  Something  flees  at  him 
wT  a  vengeance,  maist  dang  him  back  ower  —  bang 
gaed  the  knight's  pistol,  and  Hutcheon  that  held 
the  ladder,  and  my  gudesire  that  stood  beside  him, 
hears  a  loud  skelloch.  A  minute  after,  Sir  John 
flings  the  body  of  the  jackanape  down  to  them,  and 
cries  that  the  siller  is  fund,  and  that  they  should 
come  up  and  help  him.  And  there  was  the  bag  of 
siller  sure  aneuch,  and  mony  orra  thing  besides  that 
had  been  missing  for  mony  a  day.  And  Sir  John, 
when  he  had  riped  the  turret  weel,  led  my  gudesire 
into  the  dining-parlor,  and  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  and  said  he  was  sorry  he 
should  have  doubted  his  word,  and  that  he  would 
hereafter  be  a  good  master  to  him,  to  make  amends. 

"And  now,  Steenie,"  said  Sir  John,  "although 
this  vision  of  yours  tend,  on  the  whole,  to  my 
father's  credit,  as  an  honest  man,  that  he  should, 
even  after  his  death,  desire  to  see  justice  done  to  a 
poor  man  like  you,  yet  you  are  sensible  that  ill- 
dispositioned  men  might  make  bad  constructions 


30  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

upon  it  concerning  his  soul's  health.  So  I  think  we 
had  better  lay  the  haill  dirdum  on  that  ill-deedie 
creature,  Major  Weir,  and  sae  naething  about  your 
dream  in  the  wood  of  Pitmurkie.  You  had  taken 
ower  muckle  brandy  to  be  very  certain  about 
ony thing;  and  Steenie,  this  receipt"  (his  hand 
shook  while  he  held  it  out) — "it's  but  a  queer  kind 
of  document,  and  we  will  do  best,  I  think,  to  put  it 
quietly  in  the  fire." 

"Od,  but  for  as  queer  as  it  is,  it's  a'  the  voucher  I 
have  for  my  rent,"  said  my  gudesire,  who  was 
afraid,  it  may  be,  of  losing  the  benefit  of  Sir  Robert's 
discharge. 

"I  will  bear  the  contents  to  your  credit  in  the 
rental-book,  and  give  you  a  discharge  under  my  own 
hand,"  said  Sir  John,  "and  that  on  the  spot.  And, 
Steenie,  if  you  can  hold  your  tongue  about  this 
matter,  you  shall  sit,  from  this  term  downward,  at 
an  easier  rent." 

"Mony  thanks  to  your  honor,"  said  Steenie,  who 
saw  easily  in  what  corner  the  wind  was;  "doubtless 
I  will  be  conformable  to  all  your  honor's  commands; 
only  I  would  willingly  speak  wi'  some  powerful 
minister  on  the  subject,  for  I  do  not  like  the  sort 
of  soumons  of  appointment  whilk  your  honor's 
father"— 

"Do  not  call  the  phantom  my  father!"  said  Sir 
John,  interrupting  him. 


WANDERING    WILLIE'S   TALE  31 

"Weel,  then,  the  thing  that  was  so  like  him,"  said 
my  gudesire;  "he  spoke  of  my  coming  back  to  see 
him  thiL  t;me  twelvemonth,  and  it's  a  weight  on  my 
conscience." 

"  Aweel,  then,"  said  Sir  John,  "if  you  be  so  much 
distressed  in  mind,  you  may  speak  to  our  minister 
of  the  parish ;  he  is  a  douce  man,  regards  the  honor 
of  our  family,  and  the  mair  that  he  may  look  for 
some  patronage  from  me." 

Wi'  that,  my  father  readily  agreed  that  the  receipt 
should  be  burnt,  and  the  Laird  threw  it  into  the 
chimney  with  his  ain  hand.  Burn  it  would  not  for 
them,  though;  but  away  it  flew  up  the  lum,  wi'  a 
lang  train  of  sparks  at  its  tail  and  a  hissing  noise 
like  a  squib. 

My  gudesire  gaed  down  to  the  manse,  and  the 
minister,  when  he  had  heard  the  story,  said,  it  was 
his  real  opinion  that  though  my  gudesire  had  gaen 
very  far  in  tampering  with  dangerous  matters,  yet, 
as  he  had  refused  the  devil's  arles  (for  such  was  the 
offer  of  meat  and  drink),  and  had  refused  to  do 
homage  by  piping  at  his  bidding,  he  hoped  that, 
if  he  held  a  circumspect  walk  hereafter,  Satan  could 
take  little  advantage  by  what  was  come  and  gane. 
And,  indeed,  my  gudesire  of  his  ain  accord  lang 
forswore  baith  the  pipes  and  the  brandy  —  it  was 
not  even  till  the  year  was  out  and  the  fatal  day  past 
that  he  would  so  much  as  take  the  fiddle,  or  drink 
usquebaugh  or  tippenny. 


32  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Sir  John  made  up  his  story  about  the  jackanape 
as  he  liked  himsel';  and  some  believe  till  this  day 
there  was  no  more  in  the  matter  than  the  niching 
nature  of  the  brute.  Indeed,  ye'll  no  hinder  some  to 
threap  that  it  was  nane  o'  the  Auld  Enemy  that 
Dougal  and  Hutcheon  saw  in  the  Laird's  room, 
but  only  that  wanchancy  creature  the  Major, 
capering  on  the  coffin;  and  that,  as  to  the  blawing 
on  the  Laird's  whistle  that  was  heard  after  he  was 
dead,  the  filthy  brute  could  do  that  as  weel  as  the 
Laird  himsel',  if  no  better.  But  Heaven  kens  the 
truth,  whilk  first  came  out  by  the  minister's  wife, 
after  Sir  John  and  her  ain  gudeman  were  baith  in 
the  moulds.  And  then  my  gudesire,  wha  was  failed 
in  his  limbs,  but  not  in  his  judgment  or  memory  - 
at  least  nothing  to  speak  of  —  was  obliged  to  tell 
the  real  narrative  to  his  friends,  for  the  credit  of 
his  good  name.  He  might  else  have  been  charged 
for  a  warlock. 


THE  BAGMAN'S  STORY 
BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 


THE  BAGMAN'S  STORY 

ONE  winter's  evening,  about  five  o'clock,  just  as  it 
began  to  grow  dusk,  a  man  in  a  gig  might  have  been 
seen  urging  his  tired  horse  along  the  road  which 
leads  across  Marlborough  Downs,  in  the  direction 
of  Bristol.  I  say  he  might  have  been  seen,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  he  would  have  been,  if  anybody  but 
a  blind  man  had  happened  to  pass  that  way;  but 
the  weather  was  so  bad,  and  the  night  so  cold 
and  wet,  that  nothing  was  out  but  the  water,  and 
so  the  traveller  jogged  along  in  the  middle  of  the 
road,  lonesome  and  dreary  enough.  If  any  bagman 
of  that  day  could  have  caught  sight  of  the  little 
neck-or-nothing  sort  of  gig,  with  a  clay-colored 
body  and  red  wheels,  and  the  vixenish,  ill-tempered, 
fast-going  bay  mare,  that  looked  like  a  cross  between 
a  butcher's  horse  and  a  two-penny  post-office  pony, 
he  would  have  known  at  once,  that  this  traveller 
could  have  been  no  other  than  Tom  Smart,  of  the 
great  house  of  Bilson  and  Slum,  Cateaton  Street, 
City.  However,  as  there  was  no  bagman  to  look  on, 
nobody  knew  anything  at  all  about  the  matter; 
•and  so  Tom  Smart  and  his  clay-colored  gig  with  the 
red  wheels,  and  the  vixenish  mare  with  the  fast  pace, 
35 


36  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

went  on  together,  keeping  the  secret  among  them: 
and  nobody  was  a  bit  the  wiser. 

There  are  many  pleasanter  places  even  in  this 
dreary  world,  than  Marlborough  Downs  when  it 
blows  hard;  and  if  you  throw  in  beside,  a  gloomy 
winter's  evening,  a  miry  and  sloppy  "road,  and  a 
pelting  fall  of  heavy  rain,  and  try  the  effect,  by  way 
of  experiment,  in  your  own  proper  person,  you  will 
experience  the  full  force  of  this  observation. 

The  wind  blew  —  not  up  the  road  or  down  it, 
though  that's  bad  enough,  but  sheer  across  it,  send- 
ing the  rain  slanting  down  like  the  lines  they  used  to 
rule  in  the  copybooks  at  school,  to  make  the  boys 
slope  well.  For  a  moment  it  would  die  away,  and 
the  traveller  would  begin  to  delude  himself  into  the 
belief  that,  exhausted  with  its  previous  fury,  it  had 
quietly  lain  itself  down  to  rest,  when,  whoo!  he 
would  hear  it  growling  and  whistling  in  the  distance, 
and  on  it  would  come  rushing  over  the  hill-tops,  and 
sweeping  along  the  plain,  gathering  sound  and 
strength  as  it  drew  nearer,  until  it  dashed  with  a 
heavy  gust  against  horse  and  man,  driving  the  sharp 
rain  into  their  ears,  and  its  cold  damp  breath  into 
their  very  bones;  and  past  them  it  would  scour,  far, 
far  away,  with  a  stunning  roar,  as  if  in  ridicule  of 
their  weakness,  and  triumphant  in  the  consciousness 
of  its  own  strength  and  power. 

The  bay  mare  splashed  away,  through  the  mud 


THE   BAGMAN'S   STORY  37 

and  water,  with  drooping  ears;  now  and  then  tossing 
her  head  as  if  to  express  her  disgust  at  this  very 
ungentlemanly  behavior  of  the  elements,  but  keep- 
ing a  good  pace  notwithstanding,  until  a  gust  of 
wind,  more  furious  than  any  that  had  yet  assailed 
them,  caused  her  to  stop  suddenly  and  plant  her 
four  feet  firmly  against  the  ground,  to  prevent  her 
being  blown  over.  It's  a  special  mercy  that  she  did 
this,  for  if  she  had  been  blown  over,  the  vixenish 
mare  was  so  light,  and  the  gig  was  so  light,  and  Tom 
Smart  such  a  light  weight  into  the  bargain,  that 
they  must  infallibly  have  all  gone  rolling  over  and 
over  together,  until  they  reached  the  confines  of 
earth,  or  until  the  wind  fell;  and  in  either  case 
the  probability  is,  that  neither  the  vixenish  mare, 
nor  the  clay-colored  gig  with  the  red  wheels,  nor 
Tom  Smart,  would  ever  have  been  fit  for  service 
again. 

"Well,  damn  my  straps  and  whiskers,"  says  Tom 
Smart  (Tom  sometimes  had  an  unpleasant  knack  of 
swearing),  "Damn  my  straps  and  whiskers,"  says 
Tom,  "if  this  ain't  pleasant,  blow  me!" 

You'll  very  likely  ask  me  why,  as  Tom  Smart  had 
been  pretty  well  blown  already,  he  expressed  this 
wish  to  be  submitted  to  the  same  process  again.  I 
can't  say  —  all  I  know  is,  that  Tom  Smart  said  so  — • 
or  at  least  he  always  told  my  uncle  he  said  so,  and 
it's  just  the  same  thing. 


38  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"Blow  me,"  says  Tom  Smart;  and  the  mare 
neighed  as  if  she  were  precisely  of  the  same  opinion. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  girl,"  said  Tom,  patting  the  bay 
mare  on  the  neck  with  the  end  of  his  whip.  "It 
won't  do  pushing  on,  such  a  night  as  this;  the  first 
house  we  come  to  we'll  put  up  at,  so  the  faster  you 
go  the  sooner  it's  over.  Soho,  old  girl  —  gently  — 
gently." 

Whether  the  vixenish  mare  was  sufficiently  well 
acquainted  with  the  tones  of  Tom's  voice  to  com- 
prehend his  meaning,  or  whether  she  found  it  colder 
standing  still  than  moving  on,  of  course  I  can't  say. 
But  I  can  say  that  Tom  had  no  sooner  finished 
speaking,  than  she  pricked  up  her  ears,  and  started 
forward  at  a  speed  which  made  the  clay-colored  gig 
rattle  till  you  would  have  supposed  every  one  of  the 
red  spokes  was  going  to  fly  out  on  the  turf  of 
Marlborough  Downs;  and  even  Tom,  whip  as  he 
was,  couldn't  stop  or  check  her  pace,  until  she  drew 
up,  of  her  own  accord,  before  a  road-side  inn  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  way,  about  half  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  end  of  the  Downs. 

Tom  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  the  upper  part  of  the 
house  as  he  threw  the  reins  to  the  hostler,  and  stuck 
the  whip  in  the  box.  It  was  a  strange  old  place, 
built  of  a  kind  of  shingle,  inlaid,  as  it  were,  with 
cross-beams,  with  gabled-topped  windows  projecting 
completely  over  the  pathway,  and  a  low  door  with 


THE   BAGMAN'S   STORY  39 

a  dark  porch,  and  a  couple  of  steep  steps  leading 
down  into  the  house,  instead  of  the  modern  fashion 
of  half  a  dozen  shallow  ones  leading  up  to  it.  It  was 
a  comfortable-looking  place  though,  for  there  was 
a  strong  cheerful  light  in  the  bar-window,  which 
shed  a  bright  ray  across  the  road,  and  even  lighted 
up  the  hedge  on  the  other  side;  and  there  was  a  red 
flickering  light  in  the  opposite  window,  one  moment 
but  faintly  discernible,  and  the  next  gleaming 
strongly  through  the  drawn  curtains,  which  inti- 
mated that  a  rousing  fire  was  blazing  within. 
Marking  these  little  evidences  with  the  eye  of  an 
experienced  traveller,  Tom  dismounted  with  as 
much  agility  as  his  half-frozen  limbs  would  permit, 
and  entered  the  house. 

In  less  than  five  minutes'  time,  Tom  was  en- 
sconced in  the  room  opposite  the  bar  - —  the  very 
room  where  he  had  imagined  the  fire  blazing  — 
before  a  substantial  matter-of-fact  roaring  fire, 
composed  of  something  short  of  a  bushel  of  coals, 
and  wood  enough  to  make  half  a  dozen  decent 
gooseberry  bushes,  piled  halfway  up  the  chimney, 
and  roaring  and  crackling  with  a  sound  that  of 
itself  would  have  warmed  the  heart  of  any  reasonable 
man.  This  was  comfortable,  but  this  was  not  all, 
for  a  smartly  dressed  girl,  with  a  bright  eye  and  a 
neat  ankle,  was  laying  a  very  clean  white  cloth  on 
the  table;  and  as  Tom  sat  with  his  slippered  feet  on 


40  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

the  fender,  and  his  back  to  the  open  door,  he  saw  a 
charming  prospect  of  the  bar  reflected  in  the  glass 
over  the  chimney-piece,  with  delightful  rows  of 
green  bottles  and  gold  labels,  together  with  jars  oi; 
pickles  and  preserves,  and  cheeses  and  boiled  hams, 
and  rounds  of  beef,  arranged  on  shelves  in  the  most 
tempting  and  delicious  array.  Well,  this  was  com- 
fortable too;  but  even  this  was  not  all  —  for  in  the 
bar,  seated  at  tea  at  the  nicest  possible  little  table, 
drawn  close  up  before  the  brightest  possible  little 
fire,  was  a  buxom  widow  of  somewhere  about  eight- 
and-forty  or  thereabouts,  with  a  face  as  comfortable 
as  the  bar,  who  was  evidently  the  landlady  of  the 
house,  and  the  supreme  ruler  over  all  these  agreeable 
possessions.  There  was  only  .one  drawback  to  the 
beauty  of  the  whole  picture,  and  that  was  a  tall 
man  —  a  very  tall  man  —  in  a  brown  coat  and 
bright  basket  buttons,  and  black  whiskers,  and 
wavy  black  hair,  who  was  seated  at  tea  with  the 
widow,  and  who  it  required  no  great  penetration  to 
discover  was  in  a  fair  way  of  persuading  her  to  be  a 
widow  no  longer,  but  to  confer  upon  him  the  priv- 
ilege of  sitting  down  in  that  bar,  for  and  during  the. 
whole  remainder  of  the  term  of  his  natural  life. 
Tom  Smart  was  by  no  means  of  an  irritable  or 
envious  disposition,  but  somehow  or  other  the  tall 
man  with  the  brown  coat  and  the  bright  basket 
buttons  did  rouse  what  little  gall  he  had  in  his  com- 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY  41 

position,  and  did  make  him  feel  extremely  indignant: 
the  more  especially  as  he  could  now  and  then 
observe,  from  his  seat  before  the  glass,  certain  little 
affectionate  familiarities  passing  between  the  tall 
man  and  the  widow,  which  sufficiently  denoted  that 
the  tall  man  was  as  high  in  favor  as  he  was  in  size. 
Tom  was  fond  of  hot  punch  —  I  may  venture  to 
say  he  was  very  fond  of  hot  punch  —  and  after  he 
had  seen  the  vixenish  mare  well  fed  and  well  littered 
down,  and  had  eaten  every  bit  of  the  nice  little  hot 
dinner  which  the  widow  tossed  up  for  him  with  her 
own  hands,  he  just  ordered  a  tumbler  of  it,  by  way 
of  experiment.  Now,  if  there  was  one  thing  in  the 
whole  range  of  domestic  art,  which  the  widow  could 
manufacture  better  than  another,  it  was  this  iden- 
tical article;  and  the  first  tumbler  was  adapted  to 
Tom  Smart's  taste  with  such  peculiar  nicety,  that 
he  ordered  a  second  with  the  least  possible  delay. 
Hot  punch  is  a  pleasant  thing,  gentlemen  —  an 
extremely  pleasant  thing  under  any  circumstances 
—  but  in  that  snug  old  parlor,  before  the  roaring 
fire,  with  the  wind  blowing  outside  till  every  timber 
in  the  old  house  creaked  again,  Tom  Smart  found  it 
perfectly  delightful.  He  ordered  another  tumbler, 
and  then  another  —  I  am  not  quite  certain  whether 
he  didn't  order  another  after  that  —  but  the  more 
he  drank  of  the  hot  punch,  the  more  he  thought  of 
the  tall  man. 


42  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

"Confound  his  impudence!"  said  Tom  to  himself, 
"what  business  has  he  in  that  snug  bar?  Such  an 
ugly  villain  too!"  said  Tom.  "If  the  widow  had 
any  taste,  she  might  surely  pick  up  some  better 
fellow  than  that."  Here  Tom's  eye  wandered  from 
the  glass  on  the  chimney-piece,  to  the  glass  on  the 
table;  and  as  he  felt  himself  becoming  gradually 
sentimental,  he  emptied  the  fourth  tumbler  of 
punch  and  ordered  a  fifth. 

Tom  Smart,  gentlemen,  had  always  been  very 
much  attached  to  the  public  line.  It  had  long  been 
his  ambition  to  stand  in  a  bar  of  his  own,  in  a  green 
coat,  knee-cords,  and  tops.  He  had  a  great  notion  of 
taking  the  chair  at  convivial  dinners,  and  he  had 
often  thought  how  well  he  could  preside  in  a  room 
of  his  own  in  the  talking  way,  and  what  a  capital 
example  he  could  set  to  his  customers  in  the  drinking 
department.  All  these  things  passed  rapidly 
through  Tom's  mind  as  he  sat  drinking  the  hot 
punch  by  the  roaring  fire,  and  he  felt  very  justly 
and  properly  indignant  that  the  tall  man  should  be 
in  a  fair  way  of  keeping  such  an  excellent  house, 
while  he,  Tom  Smart,  was  as  far  off  from  it  as  ever. 
So,  after  deliberating  over  the  two  last  tumblers, 
whether  he  hadn't  a  perfect  right  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  the  tall  man  for  having  contrived  to  get  into 
the  good  graces  of  the  buxom  widow,  Tom  Smart  at 
last  arrived  at  the  satisfactory  conclusion  that  he 


THE   BAGMAN'S   STORY  .43 

was  a  very  ill-used  and  persecuted  individual,  and 
had  better  go  to  bed. 

Up  a  wide  and  ancient  staircase  the  smart  girl 
preceded  Tom,  shading  the  chamber  candle  with 
her  hand,  to  protect  it  from  the  currents  of  air  which 
in  such  a  rambling  old  place  might  have  found 
plenty  of  room  to  disport  themselves  in,  without 
blowing  the  candle  out,  but  which  did  blow  it  out 
nevertheless;  thus  affording  Tom's  enemies  an 
opportunity  of  asserting  that  it  was  he,  and  not  the 
wind,  who  extinguished  the  candle,  and  that  while 
he  pretended  to  be  blowing  it  alight  again,  he  was  in 
fact  kissing  the  girl.  Be  this  as  it  may,  another 
light  was  obtained,  and  Tom  was  conducted  through 
a  maze  of  rooms,  and  a  labyrinth  of  passages,  to  the 
apartment  which  had  been  prepared  for  his  reception, 
where  the  girl  bade  him  good  night,  and  left  him 
alone. 

It  was  a  good  large  room  with  big  closets,  and  a 
bed  which  might  have  served  for  a  whole  boarding- 
school,  to  say  nothing  of  a  couple  of  oaken  presses 
that  would  have  held  the  baggage  of  a  small  army; 
but  what  struck  Tom's  fancy  most  was  a  strange, 
grim-looking  high-backed  chair,-  carved  in  the  most 
fantastic  manner,  with  a  flowered  damask  cushion, 
and  the  round  knobs  at  the  bottom  of  the  legs  care- 
fully tied  up  in  red  cloth,  as  if  it  had  got  the  gout  in 
its  toes.  Of  any  other  queer  chair,  Tom  would  only 


44  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

have  thought  it  was  a  queer  chair,  and  there  would 
have  been  an  end  of  the  matter;  but  there  was 
something  about  this  particular  chair,  and  yet  he 
couldn't  tell  what  it  was,  so  odd  and  so  unlike  any 
other  piece  of  furniture  he  had  ever  seen,  that  it 
seemed  to  fascinate  him.  He  sat  down  before  the 
fire,  and  stared  at  the  old  chair  for  half  an  hour.— 
Deuce  take  the  chair,  it  was  such  a  strange  old 
thing,  he  couldn't  take  his  eyes  off  it. 

"Well,"  said  Tom,  slowly  undressing  himself,  and 
staring  at  the  old  chair  all  the  while,  which  stood 
with  a  mysterious  aspect  by  the  bedside,  "I  never 
saw  such  a  rum  concern  as  that  in  my  days.  Very 
odd,"  said  Tom,  who  had  got  rather  sage  with  the 
hot  punch,  "Very  odd."  Tom  shook  his  head  with 
an  air  of  profound  wisdom,  and  looked  at  the  chair 
again.  He  couldn't  make  anything  of  it  though,  so 
he  got  into  bed,  covered  himself  up  warm,  and  fell 
asleep. 

In  about  half  an  hour,  Tom  woke  up,  with  a 
start,  from  a  confused  dream  of  tall  men  and 
tumblers  of  punch:  and  the  first  object  that  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  waking  imagination  was  the 
queer  chair. 

"I  won't  look  at  it  any  more,"  said  Tom  to  him- 
self, and  he  squeezed  his  eyelids  together,  and  tried 
to  persuade  himself  he  was  going  to  sleep  again. 
No  use;  nothing  but  queer  chairs  danced  before  his 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY  45 

eyes,  kicking  up  their  legs,  jumping  over  each 
other's  backs,  and  playing  all  kinds  of  antics. 

"I  may  as  well  see  one  real  chair,  as  two  or  three 
complete  sets  of  false  ones,"  said  Tom,  bringing  out 
his  head  from  under  the  bed-clothes.  There  it  was, 
plainly  discernible  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  looking  as 
provoking  as  ever. 

Tom  gazed  at  the  chair;  and,  suddenly  as  he 
looked  at  it,  a  most  extraordinary  change  seemed 
to  come  over  it.  The  carving  of  the  back  gradually 
assumed  the  lineaments  and  expression  of  an  old 
shrivelled  human  face;  the  damask  cushion  became 
an  antique,  flapped  waistcoat;  the  round  knobs 
grew  into  a  couple  of  feet,  encased  in  red  cloth 
slippers;  and  the  old  chair  looked  like  a  very  ugly 
old  man,  of  the  previous  century,  with  his  arms 
akimbo.  Tom  sat  up  in  bed,  and  rubbed  his  eyes 
to  dispel  the  illusion.  No.  The  chair  was  an  ugly 
old  gentleman ;  and  what  was  more,  he  was  winking 
at  Tom  Smart. 

Tom  was  naturally  a  headlong,  careless  sort  of 
dog,  and  he  had  had  five  tumblers  of  hot  punch  into 
the  bargain;  so,  although  he  was  a  little  startled  at 
first,  he  began  to  grow  rather  indignant  when  he 
saw  the  old  gentleman  winking  and  leering  at  him 
with  such  an  impudent  air.  At  length  he  resolved 
that  he  wouldn't  stand  it;  and  as  the  old  face  still 


46  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

kept  winking  away  as  fast  as  ever,  Tom  said,  in  a 
very  angry  tone: 

"What  the  devil  are  you  winking  at  me  for?" 

"Because  I  like  it,  Tom  Smart,"  said  the  chair; 
or  the  old  gentleman,  whichever  you  like  to  call 
him.  He  stopped  winking  though,  when  Tom  spoke, 
and  began  grinning  like  a  superannuated  monkey. 

"How  do  you  know  my  name,  old  nut-cracker 
face!"  inquired  Tom  Smart,  rather  staggered; — 
though  he  pretended  to  carry  it  off  so  well. 

"Come,  come,  Tom,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
"that's  not  the  way  to  address  solid  Spanish  Ma- 
hogany. Dam'me  you  couldn't  treat  me  with  less 
respect  if  I  was  veneered."  When  the  old  gentleman 
said  this,  he  looked  so  fierce  that  Tom  began  to  grow 
frightened. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  treat  you  with  any  disrespect, 
sir,"  said  Tom;  in  a  much  humbler  tone  than  he  had 
spoken  in  at  first. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  old  fellow,  "perhaps  not  — 
perhaps  not.  Tom  — " 

"Sir—" 

"I  know  everything  about  you,  Tom;  everything. 
You're  very  poor,  Tom." 

"I  certainly  am,"  said  Tom  Smart.  "But  how 
came  you  to  know  that?" 

"Never  mind  that,"  said  the  old  gentleman; 
"you're  much  too  fond  of  punch,  Tom." 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY  47 

Tom  Smart  was  just  on  the  point  of  protesting 
that  he  hadn't  tasted  a  drop  since  his  last  birthday, 
but  when  his  eye  encountered  that  of  the  old  gentle- 
man, he  looked  so  knowing  that  Tom  blushed,  and 
was  silent. 

"Tom,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "the  widow's 
a  fine  woman  —  remarkably  fine  woman  —  eh, 
Tom?"  Here  the  old  fellow  screwed  up  his  eyes, 
cocked  up  one  of  his  wasted  little  legs,  and  looked 
altogether  so  unpleasantly  amorous,  that  Tom  was 
quite  disgusted  with  the  levity  of  his  behavior; —  at 
his  time  of  life,  too! 

"I  am  her  guardian,  Tom,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. 

"Are  you?"  inquired  Tom  Smart. 

"I  knew  her  mother,  Tom,"  said  the  old  fellow; 
"  and  her  grandmother.  She  was  very  fond  of  me  — 
made  me  this  waistcoat,  Tom." 

"Did  she?"  said  Tom  Smart. 

"And  these  shoes,"  said  the  old  fellow,  lifting  up 
one  of  the  red-cloth  mufflers;  "but  don't  mention 
it,  Tom.  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  it  known  that  she 
was  so  much  attached  to  me.  It  might  occasion 
some  unpleasantness  in  the  family."  When  the  old 
rascal  said  this,  he  looked  so  extremely  impertinent, 
that,  as  Tom  Smart  afterwards  declared,  he  could 
have  sat  upon  him  without  remorse. 

"I  have  been  a  great  favorite  among  the  women  in 


48  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

my  time,  Tom,"  said  the  profligate  old  debauchee; 
"hundreds  of  fine  women  have  sat  in  my  lap  for 
hours  together.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  you 
dog,  eh!"  The  old  gentleman  was  proceeding  to 
recount  some  other  exploits  of  his  youth,  when  he 
was  seized  with  such  a  violent  fit  of  creaking  that  he 
was  unable  to  proceed. 

"Just  serves  you  right,  old  boy,"  thought  Tom 
Smart;  but  he  didn't  say  anything. 

"Ah!"  said  the  old  fellow,  "I  am  a  good  deal 
troubled  with  this  now.  I  am  getting  old,  Tom,  and 
have  lost  nearly  all  my  rails.  I  have  had  an  opera- 
tion performed,  too  —  a  small  piece  let  into  my 
back  —  and  I  found  it  a  severe  trial,  Tom." 

"I  dare  say  you   did,   sir,"   said   Tom   Smart. 

"However,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "that's  not 
the  point.  Tom!  I  want  you  to  marry  the  widow." 

"Me,  sir!"  said  Tom. 

"You,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

"Bless  your  reverend  locks,"  said  Tom — (he 
had  a  few  scattered  horse-hairs  left)  — "bless  your 
reverend  locks,  she  wouldn't  have  me."  And  Tom 
sighed  involuntarily,  as  he  thought  of  the  bar. 

"Wouldn't  she?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  firmly. 

"No,  no,"  said  Tom;  "there's  somebody  else  in 
the  wind.  A  tall  man  —  a  confoundedly  tall  man  — • 
with  black  whiskers." 

"Tom,"  said  the  old  gentleman;  "she  will  never 
have  him." 


THE   BAGMAN'S    STORY  49 

"Won't  she?"  said  Tom.  "If  you  stood  in  the 
bar,  old  gentleman,  you'd  tell  another  story." 

"Pooh,  pooh,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "I  know 
all  about  that." 

"About  what?"  said  Tom. 

"The  kissing  behind  the  door,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  Tom,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  And  here 
he  gave  another  impudent  look,  which  made  Tom 
very  wroth,  because,  as  you  all  know,  gentlemen, 
to  hear  an  old  fellow,  who  ought  to  know  better, 
talking  about  these  things  is  very  unpleasant  — 
nothing  more  so. 

"I  know  all  about  that,  Tom,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. "I  have  seen  it  done  very  often  in  my  time, 
Tom,  between  more  people  than  I  should  like  to 
mention  to  you;  but  it  never  came  to  anything  after 
all." 

"You  must  have  seen  some  queer  things,"  said 
Tom,  with  an  inquisitive  look. 

"You  may  say  that,  Tom,"  replied  the  old  fellow, 
with  a  very  complicated  wink.  "  I  am  the  last  of  my 
family,  Tom,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
melancholy  sigh. 

"Was  it  a  large  one?"  inquired  Tom  Smart. 

"There  were  twelve  of  us,  Tom,"  said  the  old 
gentleman;  "fine,  straight-backed,  handsome  fel- 
lows as  you'd  wish  to  see.  None  of  your  modern 
abortions  —  all  with  arms,  and  with  a  degree  of 


50  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

polish,  though  I  say  it  that  should  not,  which  would 
have  done  your  heart  good  to  behold." 

"And  what's  become  of  the  others,  sir?"  asked 
Tom  Smart. 

The  old  gentleman  applied  his  elbow  to  his  eye 
as  he  replied,  "Gone,  Tom,  gone.  We  had  hard 
service,  Tom,  and  they  hadn't  all  my  constitution. 
They  got  rheumatic  about  the  legs  and  arms,  and 
went  into  kitchens  and  other  hospitals;  and  one  of 
'em,  with  long  service  and  hard  usage,  positively 
lost  his  senses: — he  got  so  crazy  that  he  was  obliged 
to  be  burnt.  Shocking  thing  that,  Tom." 

"Dreadful!"  said  Tom  Smart. 

The  old  fellow  paused  for  a  few  minutes,  appar- 
ently struggling  with  his  feelings  of  emotion,  and 
then  said: 

"However,  Tom,  I  am  wandering  from  the  point. 
This  tall  man,  Tom,  is  a  rascally  adventurer.  The 
moment  he  married  the  widow,  he  would  sell  off  all 
the  furniture,  and  run  away.  What  would  be  the 
consequence?  She  would  be  deserted  and  reduced 
to  ruin,  and  I  should  catch  my  death  of  cold  in  some 
broker's  shop." 

"Yes,  but— " 

"Don't  interrupt  me,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"Of  you,  Tom,  I  entertain  a  very  different  opinion; 
for  I  well  know  that  if  you  once  settled  yourself  in  a 
public  house,  you  would  never  leave  it  as  long  as 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY  51 

there   was  anything   to   drink   within   its   walls.  \ 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  good 
opinion,  sir,"  said  Tom  Smart. 

"Therefore,"  resumed  the  old  gentleman  in  a 
dictatorial  tone;  "you  shall  have  her,  and  he  shall 
not." 

"What  is  to  prevent  it?"  said  Tom  Smart, 
eagerly. 

"This  disclosure,"  replied  the  old  gentleman; 
"he  is  already  married." 

"How  can  I  prove  it?"  said  Tom,  starting  half 
out  of  bed. 

The  old  gentleman  untucked  his  arm  from  his 
side,  and  having  pointed  to  one  of  the  oaken  presses, 
immediately  replaced  it  in  its  old  position. 

"He  little  thinks,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "that 
in  the  right  hand  pocket  of  a  pair  of  trousers  in  that 
press,  he  has  left  a  letter,  entreating  him  to  return 
to  his  disconsolate  wife,  with  six  —  mark  me,  Tom 
—  six  babes,  and  all  of  them  small  ones." 

As  the  old  gentleman  solemnly  uttered  these 
words,  his  features  grew  less  and  less  distinct,  and 
his  figure  more  shadowy.  A  film  came  over  Tom 
Smart's  eyes.  The  old  man  seemed  gradually 
blending  into  the  chair,  the  damask  waistcoat  to 
resolve  into  a  cushion,  the  red  slippers  to  shrink 
into  little  red  cloth  bags.  The  light  faded  gently 


52  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

away,  and  Tom  Smart  fell  back  on  his  pillow,  and 
dropped  asleep. 

Morning  aroused  Tom  from  the  lethargic  slumber, 
into  which  he  had  fallen  on  the  disappearance  of  the 
old  man.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  and  for  some  minutes 
vainly  endeavored  to  recall  the  events  of  the  pre- 
ceding night.  Suddenly  they  rushed  upon  him.  He 
looked  at  the  chair;  it  was  a  fantastic  and  grim- 
looking  piece  of  furniture,  certainly,  but  it  must  have 
been  a  remarkably  ingenious  and  lively  imagination, 
that  could  have  discovered  any  resemblance  between 
it  and  an  old  man. 

"How  are  you,  old  boy?"  said  Tom.  He  was 
bolder  in  the  daylight  —  most  men  are. 

The  chair  remained  motionless,  and  spoke  not  a 
word. 

"Miserable  morning,"  said  Tom.  No.'  The 
chair  would  not  be  drawn  into  conversation. 

"Which  press  did  you  point  to? —  you  can  tell  me 
that,"  said  Tom.  Devil  a  word,  gentlemen,  the 
chair  would  say. 

"It's  not  much  trouble  to  open  it,  anyhow," 
said  Tom,  getting  out  of  bed  very  deliberately.  He 
walked  up  to  one  of  the  presses.  The  key  was  in 
the  lock;  he  turned  it,  and  opened  the  door.  There 
was  a  pair  of  trousers  there.  He  put  his  hand  into 
the  pocket,  and  drew  forth  the  identical  letter  the  old 
gentleman  had  described! 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY 


53 


" Queer  sort  of  thing,  this,"  said  Tom  Smart; 
looking  first  at  the  crjair  and  then  at  the  press,  and 
then  at  the  letter  and  then  at  the  chair  again. 
"Very  queer,"  said  Tom.  But,  as  there  was  nothing 
in  either  to  lessen  the  queerness,  he  thought  he 
might  as  well  dress  himself,  and  settle  the  tall  man's 
business  at  once  —  just  to  put  him  out  of  his 
misery. 

Tom  surveyed  the  rooms  he  passed  through,  on 
his  way  downstairs,  with  the  scrutinizing  eye  of  a 
landlord;  thinking  it  not  impossible,  that  before 
long,  they  and  their  contents  would  be  his  property. 
The  tall  man  was  standing  in  the  snug  little  bar, 
with  his  hands  behind  him,  quite  at  home.  He 
grinned  vacantly  at  Tom.  A  casual  observer  might 
have  supposed  he  did  it,  only  to  show  his  white 
teeth;  but  Tom  Smart  thought  that  a  consciousness 
of  triumph  was  passing  through  the  place  where  the 
tall  man's  mind  would  have  been,  if  he  had  had  any. 
Tom  laughed  in  his  face;  and  summoned  the  land- 
lady. 

"  Good  .  morning,  ma'am,"  said  Tom  Smart, 
closing  the  door  of  the  little  parlor  as  the  widow 
entered. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  said  the  widow.  "What 
will  you  take  for  breakfast,  sir?" 

Tom  was  thinking  how  he  should  open  the  case,  so 
he  made  no  answer. 


54  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"There's  a  very  nice  ham,"  said  the  widow,  "and 
a  beautiful  cold  larded  fowl.  -  Shall  I  send  'em  in, 
sir?" 

These  words  roused  Tom  from  his  reflections. 
His  admiration  of  the  widow  increased  as  she  spoke. 
Thoughtful  creature!  Comfortable  provider! 

"Who  is  that  gentleman  in  the  bar,  ma'am?" 
inquired  Tom. 

"His  name  is  Jinkins,  sir,"  said  the  widow, 
slightly  blushing. 

"He's  a  tall  man,"  said  Tom. 

"He  is  a  very- fine  man,  sir,"  replied  the  widow, 
"and  a  very  nice  gentleman." 

"Ah!"  said  Tom. 

"Is  there  anything  more  you  want,  sir?"  inquired 
the  widow,  rather  puzzled  by  Tom's  manner. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Tom.  "My  dear  ma'am,  will 
you  have  the  kindness  to  sit  down  for  one  moment?" 

The  widow  looked  much  amazed,  but  she  sat 
down,  and  Tom  sat  down  too,  close  beside  her.  I 
don't  know  how  it  happened,  gentlemen  —  indeed 
my  uncle  used  to  tell  me  that  Tom  Smart  said  he 
didn't  know  how  it  happened  either  —  but  somehow 
or  other  the  palm  of  Tom's  hand  fell  upon  the  back 
of  the  widow's  hand,  and  remained  there  while  he 
spoke. 

"My  dear  ma'am,"  said  Tom  Smart  —  he  had 
always  a  great  notion  of  committing  the  amiable  — 


THE    BAGMAN'S    STORY  55 

"My  dear  ma'am,  you  deserve  a  very  excellent 
husband; —  you  do  indeed." 

"Lor,  sir!"  said  the  widow  —  as  well  she  might: 
Tom's  mode  of  commencing  the  conversation  being 
rather  unusual,  not  to  say  startling;  the  fact  of  his 
never  having  set  eyes  upon  her  before  the  previous 
night,  being  taken  into  consideration.  "Lor,  sir!" 

"I  scorn  to  flatter,  my  dear  ma'am,"  said  Tom 
Smart.  "You  deserve  a  very  admirable  husband, 
and  whoever  he  is,  he'll  be  a  very  lucky  man."  As 
Tom  said  this  his  eye  involuntarily  wandered  from 
the  widow's  face,  to  the  comforts  around  him. 

The  widow  looked  more  puzzled  than  ever,  and 
made  an  effort  to  rise.  Tom  gently  pressed  her 
hand,  as  if  to  detain  her,  and  she  kept  her  seat. 
Widows,  gentlemen,  are  not  usually  timorous,  as 
my  uncle  used  to  say. 

"I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir, 
for  your  good  opinion,"  said  the  buxom  landlady, 
half-laughing;  "and  if  ever  I  marry  again — " 

"//,"  said  Tom  Smart,  looking  very  shrewdly 
out  of  the  right-hand  corner  of  his  left  eye.  "If — " 

"Well,"  said  the  widow,  laughing  outright  this 
time.  "When  I  do,  I  hope  I  shall  have  as  good  a 
husband  as  you  describe." 

"  Jinkins  to  wit,"  said  Tom. 

"Lor,  sir!"  exclaimed  the  widow. 

"Oh,  don't  tell  me,"  said  Tom,  "I  know  him," 


56  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

"I  am  sure  nobody  who  knows  him,  knows  any- 
thing bad  of  him,"  said  the  widow,  bridling  up  at 
the  mysterious  air  with  which  Tom  had  spoken. 

"Hem!"  said  Tom  Smart. 

The  widow  began  to  think  it  was  high  time  to  cry, 
so  she  took  out  her  handkerchief,  and  inquired 
whether  Tom  wished  to  insult  her;  whether  he 
thought  it  like  a  gentleman  to  take  away  the  char- 
acter of  another  gentleman  behind  his  back:  why, 
if  he  had  got  anything  to  say,  he  didn't  say  it  to 
the  man,  like  a  man,  instead  of  terrifying  a  poor 
weak  woman  in  that  way;  and  so  forth. 

"I'll  say  it  to  him  fast  enough,"  said  Tom,  "only 
I  want  you  to  hear  it  first." 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  the  widow,  looking 
intently  in  Tom's  countenance. 

"I'll  astonish  you,"  said  Tom,  putting  his  hand 
in  his  pocket. 

"If  it  is,  that  he  wants  money,"  said  the  widow, 
"I  know  that  already,  and  you  needn't  trouble 
yourself." 

"Pooh,  nonsense,  that's  nothing,'"  said  Tom 
Smart.  "I  want  money.  'Tan't  that." 

"Oh,  dear,  what  can  it  be?"  exclaimed  the  poor 
widow. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Tom  Smart.  He 
slowly  drew  forth  the  letter,  and  unfolded  it.  "You 
won't  scream?"  said  Tom,  doubtfully. 


THE    BAGMAN'S   STORY  57 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  widow;    ''let  me  see  it." 

"You  won't  go  fainting  away,  or  any  of  that 
nonsense?"  said  Tom. 

"No,  no,"  returned  the  widow,  hastily. 

"And  don't  run  out,  and  blow  him  up,"  said 
Tom,  "because  I'll  do  all  that  for  you;  you  had 
better  not  exert  yourself." 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  widow,  "let  me  see  it." 

"I  will,"  replied  Tom  Smart;  and,  with  these 
words,  he  placed  the  letter  in  the  widow's  hand. 

Gentlemen,  I  have  heard  my  uncle  say,  that  Tom 
Smart  said,  the  widow's  lamentations  when  she 
heard  the  disclosure  would  have  pierced  a  heart  of 
stone.  Tom  was  certainly  very  tender-hearted,  but 
they  pierced  his  to  the  very  core.  The  widow 
rocked  herself  to  and  fro,  and  wrung  her  hands. 

"Oh,  the  deception  and  villany  of  man!"  said  the 
widow. 

"Frightful,  my  dear  ma'am;  but  compose  your- 
self," said  Tom  Smart. 

"Oh,  I  can't  compose  myself,"  shrieked  the 
widow.  "I  shall  never  find  any  one  else  I  can  love 
so  much!" 

"Oh  yes  you  will,  my  dear  soul,"  said  Tom  Smart, 
letting  fall  a  shower  of  the  largest  sized  tears,  in 
pity  for  the  widow's  misfortunes.  Tom  Smart,  in 
the  energy  of  his  compassion,  had  put  his  arm 
round  the  widow's  waist;  and  the  widow,  in  a 


58  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

passion  of  grief,  had  clasped  Tom's  hand.  She 
looked  up  in  Tom's  face,  and  smiled  through  her 
tears.  Tom  looked  down  in  hers,  and  smiled 
through  his. 

I  never  could  find  out,  gentlemen,  whether  Tom 
did  or  did  not  kiss  the  widow  at  that  particular 
moment.  He  used  to  tell  my  uncle  he  didn't,  but 
I  have  my  doubts  about  it.  Between  ourselves, 
gentlemen,  I  rather  think  he  did. 

At  all  events,  Tom  kicked  the  very  tall  man  out 
at  the  front  door  half  an  hour  after,  and  married  the 
widow  a  month  after.  And  he  used  to  drive  about 
the  country,  with  the  clay-colored  gig  with  red 
wheels,  and  the  vixenish  mare  with  the  fast  pace, 
till  he  gave  up  business  many  years  afterwards,  and 
went  to  France  with  his  wife;  and  then  the  old 
house  was  pulled  down. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  BRIDE 
BY  JAMES  HOGG 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  BRIDE 

A  GREAT  number  of  people  now-a-days  are  begin- 
ning broadly  to  insinuate  that  there  are  no  such  things 
as  ghosts,  or  spiritual  beings  visible  to  mortal  sight. 
Even  Sir  Walter  Scott  is  turned  renegade,  and,  with 
his  stories  made  up  of  half-and-half,  like  Nathaniel 
Gow's  toddy,  is  trying  to  throw  cold  water  on  the 
most  certain,  though  most  impalpable,  phenomena 
of  human  nature.  The  bodies  are  daft.  Heaven 
mend  their  wits !  Before  they  had  ventured  to  assert 
such  things,  I  wish  they  had  been  where  I  have  often 
been;  or,  in  particular,  where  the  Laird  of  Birken- 
delly  was  on  St.  Lawrence's  Eve,  in  the  year  1777, 
and  sundry  times  subsequent  to  that. 

Be  it  known,  then,  to  every  reader  of  this  relation 
of  facts  that  happened  in  my  own  remembrance, 
that  the  road  from  Birkendelly  to  the  great  muckle 
village  of  Balmawhapple,  (commonly  called  the 
muckle  town,  in  opposition  to  the  little  town  that 
stood  on  the  other  side  of  the  burn,) — -that  road,  I 
say,  lay  between  two  thorn  hedges,  so  well  kept  by 
the  Laird's  hedger,  so  close,  and  so  high,  that  a 
rabbit  could  not  have  escaped  from  the  highway  into 
any  of  the  adjoining  fields.  Along  this  road  was  the 
Laird  riding  on  the  Eve  of  St.  Lawrence,  in  a  careless, 
61 


62  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

indifferent  manner,  with  his  hat  to  one  side,  and 
his  cane  dancing  a  hornpipe  on  the  crutch  of  the 
saddle  before  him.  He  was,  moreover,  chanting  a 
song  to  himself,  and  I  have  heard  people  tell  what 
song  it  was  too.  There  was  once  a  certain,  or  rather 
uncertain,  bard,  ycleped  Robert  Burns,  who  made 
a  number  of  good  songs;  but  this  that  the  Laird 
sung  was  an  amorous  song  of  great  antiquity,  which, 
like  all  the  said  bard's  best  songs,  was  sung  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  before  he  was  born.  It  began 
thus: 

"I  am  the  Laird  of  Windy- wa's, 

I  cam  nae  here  without  a  cause, 

An'  I  hae  gotten  forty  fa's 

In  coming  o'er  the  knowe,  joe. 

The  night  it  is  baith  wind  and  weet ; 

The  morn  it  will  be  snaw  and  sleet; 

My  shoon  are  frozen  to  my  feet; 
O,  rise  an'  let  me  in,  joe! 

Let  me  in  this  ae  night,"  &c.,  &c. 

This  song  was  the  Laird  singing,  while,  at  the 
same  time,  he  was  smudging  and  laughing  at  the 
catastrophe,  when,  ere  ever  aware,  he  beheld,  a 
short  way  before  him,  an  uncommonly  elegant  and 
beautiful  girl  walking  in  the  same  direction  with 
him.  "Aye,"  said  the  Laird  to  himself,  "here  is 
something  very  attractive  indeed!  Where  the 
deuce  can  she  have  sprung  from?  She  must  have 
risen  out  of  the  earth,  for  I  never  saw  her  till  this 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  63 

breath.  Well,  I  declare  I  have  not  seen  such  a 
female  figure  —  I  wish  I  had  such  an  assignation 
with  her  as  the  Laird  of  Windy-wa's  had  with  his 
sweetheart." 

As  the  Laird  was  half-thinking,  half-speaking 
this  to  himself,  the  enchanting  creature  looked  back 
at  him  with  a  motion  of  intelligence  that  she  knew 
what  he  was  half-saying,  half-thinking,  and  then 
vanished  over  the  summit  of  the  rising  ground 
before  him,  called  the  Birky  Brow.  "Aye,  go  your 
ways!"  said  the  Laird;  "I  see  by  you,  you'll  not  be 
very  hard  to  overtake.  You  cannot  get  off  the  road, 
and  I'll  have  a  chat  with  you  before  you  make  the 
Deer's  Den." 

The  Laird  jogged  on.  He  did  not  sing  the  "  Laird 
of  Windy-wa's"  any  more,  for  he  felt  a  sort  of 
stifling  about  his  heart;  but  he  often  repeated  to 
himself,  "She's  a  very  fine  woman! — a  very  fine 
woman  indeed  —  and  to  be  walking  here  by  herself! 
I  cannot  comprehend  it." 

When  he  reached  the  summit  of  the  Birky  Brow 
he  did  not  see  her,  although  he  had  a  longer  view  of 
the  road  than  before.  He  thought  this  very  singular, 
and  began  to  suspect  that  she  wanted  to  escape  him, 
although  apparently  rather  lingering  on  him  before. 
"  I  shall  have  another  look  at  her,  however,"  thought 
the  Laird;  and  off  he  set  at  a  flying  trot.  No.  He 
came  first  to  one  turn,  then  another.  There  was 


64  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

nothing  of  the  young  lady  to  be  seen.  "  Unless  she 
take  wings  and  fly  away,  I  shall  be  up  with  her," 
quoth  the  Laird;  and  off  he  set  at  the  full  gallop. 

In  the  middle  of  his  career  he  met  with  Mr. 
M'Murdie  of  Aulton,  who  hailed  him  with,  "Hilloa! 
Birkendelly!  where  the  deuce  are  you  flying  at  that 
rate?" 

"I  was  riding  after  a  woman,"  said  the  Laird, 
with  great  simplicity,  reining  in  his  steed. 

"Then  I  am  sure  no  woman  on  earth  can  long 
escape  you,  unless  she  be  in  an  air  balloon." 

"I  don't  know  that.    Is  she  far  gone?" 

"In  which  way  do  you  mean?" 

'"In  this." 

"Aha-ha-ha!  Hee-hee-hee!"  nichered  M'Murdie, 
misconstruing  the  Laird's  meaning. 

"What  do  you  laugh  at,  my  dear  sir?  Do  you 
know  her,  then?" 

"Ho-ho-ho!  Hee-hee-hee!  How  should  I,  or 
how  can  I,  know  her,  Birkendelly,  unless  you 
inform  me  who  she  is?" 

"Why,  that  is  the  very  thing  I  want  to  know  of 
you.  I  mean  the  young  lady  whom  you  met  just 
now." 

"You  are  raving,  Birkendelly.  I  met  no  young 
lady,  nor  is  there  a  single  person  on  the  road  I  have 
come  by,  while  you  know,  that  for  a  mile  and  a  half 
forward  your  way,  she  could  not  get  out  of  it." 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  65 

"I  know  that,"  said  the  Laird,  biting  his  lip,  and 
looking  greatly  puzzled;  "but  confound  me  if  I 
understand  this;  for  I  was  within  speech  of  her  just 
now  on  the  top  of  the  Birky  Brow  there;  and,  when 
I  think  of  it,  she  could  not  have  been  even  thus  far 
as  yet.  She  had  on  a  pure  white  gauze  frock,  a 
small  green  bonnet  and  feathers,  and  a  green  veil, 
which,  flung  back  over  her  left  shoulder,  hung 
below  her  waist;  and  was  altogether  such  an  engag- 
ing figure,  that  no  man  could  have  passed  her  on 
the  road  without  taking  some  note  of  her. —  Are 
you  not  making  game  of  me?  Did  you  not  really 
meet  with  her?" 

"On  my  word  of  truth  and  honor,  I  did  not. 
Come,  ride  back  with  me,  and  we  shall  meet  her 
still,  depend  on  it.  She  has  given  you  the  go-by  on 
the  road.  Let  us  go;  I  am  only  going  to  call  at  the 
mill  about  some  barley  for  the  distillery,  and  will 
return  with  you  to  the  big  town." 

Birkendelly  returned  with  his  friend.  The  sun 
was  not  yet  set,  yet  M'Murdie  could  not  help  ob- 
serving that  the  Laird  looked  thoughtful  and  con- 
fused, and  not  a  word  could  he  speak  about  any- 
thing save  his  lovely  apparition  with  the  white 
frock  and  the  green  veil;  and  lo,  when  they  reached 
the  top  of  the  Birky  Brow,  there  was  the  maiden 
again  before  them,  and  exactly  at  the  same  spot 


66  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

where  the  Laird  first  saw  her  before,  only  walking  in 
the  contrary  direction. 

"Well,  this  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing  that 
I  ever  knew!"  exclaimed  the  Laird. 

"What  is  it,  sir?"  said  M'Murdie. 

"How  that  young  lady  could  have  eluded  me," 
returned  the  Laird;  "see,  here  she  is  still." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  I  don't  see  her.  Where 
is  she?" 

"There,  on  the  other  side  of  the  angle;  but  you 
are  short-sighted.  See,  there  she  is  ascending  the 
other  eminence  in  her  white  frock  and  green  veil,  as 
I  told  you. —  What  a  lovely  creature!" 

"Well,  well,  we  have  her  fairly  before  us  now, 
and  shall  see  what  she  is  like  at  all  events,"  said 
M'Murdie. 

Between  the  Birky  Brow  and  this  other  slight 
eminence,  there  is  an  obtuse  angle  of  the  road  at  the 
part  where  it  is  lowest,  and,  in  passing  this,  the  two 
friends  necessarily  lost  sight  of  the  object  of  their 
curiosity.  They  pushed  on  at  a  quick  pace  — 
cleared  the  low  angle  —  the  maiden  was  not  there ! 
They  rode  full  speed  to  the  top  of  the  eminence, 
from  whence  a  long  extent  of  road  was  visible  before 
them  —  there  was  no  human  creature  in  view; 
M'Murdie  laughed  aloud;  but  the  Laird  turned 
pale  as  death,  and  bit  his  lip.  His  friend  asked  at 
him  good-humoredly,  why  he  was  so  much  affected. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  67 

He  said,  because  he  could  not  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  this  singular  apparition  or  illusion;  and 
it  troubled  him  the  more,  as  he  now  remembered  a 
dream  of  the  same  nature  which  he  had  had,  and 
which  terminated  in  a  dreadful  manner. 

"Why,  man,  you  are  dreaming  still,"  said 
M'Murdie;  "but  never  mind.  It  is  quite  common 
for  men  of  your  complexion  to  dream  of  beautiful 
maidens,  with  white  frocks  and  green  veils,  bonnets, 
feathers,  and  slender  waists.  It  is  a  lovely  image, 
the  creation  of  your  own  sanguine  imagination,  and 
you  may  worship  it  without  any  blame.  Were  her 
shoes  black  or  green? —  And  her  stockings,  did  you 
note  them?  The  symmetry  of  the  limbs,  I  am  sure 
you  did!  Good-bye;  I  see  you  are  not  disposed  to 
leave  the  spot.  Perhaps  she  will  appear  to  you 
again." 

So  saying,  M'Murdie  rode  on  towards  the  mill, 
and  Birkendelly,  after  musing  for  some  time,  turned 
his  beast's  head  slowly  round,  and  began  to  move 
towards  the  great  muckle  village. 

The  Laird's  feelings  were  now  in  terrible  commo- 
tion. He  was  taken  beyond  measure  with  the 
beauty  and  elegance  of  the  figure  he  had  seen;  but 
he  remembered,  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and 
horror,  that  a  dream  of  the  same  enchanting  object 
had  haunted  his  slumbers  all  the  days  of  his  life; 
yet,  how  singular  that  he  should  never  have  recol- 


68  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

lected  the  circumstance  till  now!  But  farther,  with 
the  dream  there  were  connected  some  painful  cir- 
cumstances, which,  though  terrible  in  their  issue, 
he  could  not  recollect  so  as  to  form  them  into  any 
degree  of  arrangement. 

As  he  was  considering  deeply  of  these  things,  and 
riding  slowly  down  the  declivity,  neither  dancing 
his  cane,  nor  singing  the  "  Laird  of  Windy- wa's," 
he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  there  was  the  girl  on  the 
same  spot  where  he  saw  her  first,  walking  delib- 
erately up  the  Birky  Brow.  The  sun  was  down; 
but  it  was  the  month  of  August,  and  a  fine  evening, 
and  the  Laird,  seized  with  an  unconquerable  desire 
to  see  and  speak  with  that  incomparable  creature, 
could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  but  shouted  out  to 
her  to  stop  till  he  came  up.  She  beckoned  acqui- 
escence, and  slackened  her  pace  into  a  slow  move- 
ment. The  Laird  turned  the  corner  quickly,  but 
when  he  rounded  it,  the  maiden  was  still  there, 
though  on  the  summit  of  the  Brow.  She  turned 
round,  and,  with  an  ineffable  smile  and  curtsy, 
saluted  him,  and  again  moved  slowly  on.  She 
vanished  gradually  beyond  the  summit,  and  while 
the  green  feathers  were  still  nodding  in  view  and  so 
nigh,  that  the  Laird  could  have  touched  them  with 
a  fishing-rod,  he  reached  the  top  of  the  Brow  him- 
self. There  was  no  living  soul  there,  nor  onward, 
as  far  as  his  view  reached.  He  now  trembled  every 


THE   MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  69 

limb,  and,  without  knowing  what  he  did,  rode 
straight  on  to  the  big  town,  not  daring  well  to  return 
and  see  what  he  had  seen  for  three  several  times; 
and,  certain  he  would  see  it  again  when  the  shades 
of  evening  were  deepening,  he  deemed  it  proper  and 
prudent  to  decline  the  pursuit  of  such  a  phantom 
any  farther. 

He  alighted  at  the  Queen's  Head,  called  for  some 
brandy  and  water,  quite  forgot  what  was  his  errand 
to  the  great  muckle  town  that  afternoon,  there 
being  nothing  visible  to  his  mental  sight  but  lovely 
fairy  images,  with  white  gauze  frocks  and  green 
veils.  His  friend,  Mr.  M'Murdie,  joined  him;  they 
drank  deep,  bantered,  reasoned,  got  angry,  reasoned 
themselves  calm  again,  and  still  all  would  not  do. 
The  Laird  was  conscious  that  he  had  seen  the 
beautiful  apparition,  and,  moreover,  that  she  was 
the  very  maiden,  or  the  resemblance  of  her,  who,  in 
the  irrevocable  decrees  of  Providence,  was  destined 
to  be  his.  It  was  in  vain  that  M'Murdie  reasoned 
of  impressions  on  the  imagination,  and 

"Of  fancy  moulding  in  the  mind, 
Light  visions  on  the  passing  wind." 

Vain  also  was  a  story  that  he  told  him  of  a  relation 
of  his  own,  who  was  greatly  harassed  by  the  appari- 
tion of  an  officer  in  a  red  uniform,  that  haunted  him 
day  and  night,  and  had  very  nigh  put  him  quite 


70  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

distracted  several  times;  till  at  length  his  physician 
found  out  the  nature  of  this  illusion  so  well,  that  he 
knew,  from  the  state  of  his  pulse,  to  an  hour  when 
the  ghost  of  the  officer  would  appear;  and  by  bleed- 
ing, low  diet,  and  emollients,  contrived  to  keep  the 
apparition  away  altogether. 

The  Laird  admitted  the  singularity  of  this  incident 
but  not  that  it  was  one  in  point;  for  the  one,  he 
said,  was  imaginary,  and  the  other  real;  and  that  no 
conclusions  could  convince  him  in  opposition  to  the 
authority  of  his  own  senses.  He  accepted  of  an 
invitation  to  spend  a  few  days  with  M'Murdie  and 
his  family;  but  they  all  acknowledged  afterwards 
that  the  Laird  was  very  much  like  one  bewitched. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home,  he  went  straight  to 
the  Birky  Brow,  certain  of  seeing  once  more  the 
angelic  phantom;  but  she  was  not  there.  He  took 
each  of  his  former  positions  again  and  again,  but 
the  desired  vision  would  in  no  wise  make  its  appear- 
ance. He  tried  every  day,  and  every  hour  of  the 
day,  all  with  the  same  effect,  till  he  grew  absolutely 
desperate,  and  had  the  audacity  to  kneel  on  the 
spot,  and  entreat  on  Heaven  to  see  her.  Yes,  he 
called  on  Heaven  to  see  her  once  more,  whatever  she 
was,  whether  a  being  of  earth,  heaven  or  hell! 

He  was  now  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  he 
could  not  exist;  he  grew  listless,  impatient,  and 
sickly;  took  to  his  bed,  and  sent  for  M'Murdie  and 


THE    MYSTERIOUS   BRIDE  71 

the  doctor;  and  the  issue  of  the  consultation  was, 
that  Birkendelly  consented  to  leave  the  country  for 
a  season,  on  a  visit  to  his  only  sister  in  Ireland, 
whither  we  must  accompany  him  for  a  short  space. 
His  sister  was  married  to  Captain  Bryan,  younger 
of  Scoresby,  and  they  two  lived  in  a  cottage  on  the 
estate,  and  the  Captain's  parents  and  sisters  at 
Scoresby  Hall.  Great  was  the  stir  and  preparation 
when  the  gallant  young  Laird  of  Birkendelly 
arrived  at  the  cottage,  it  never  being  doubted  that 
he  came  to  forward  a  second  bond  of  connection 
with  the  family,  which  still  contained  seven  dashing 
sisters,  all  unmarried,  and  all  alike  willing  to  change 
that  solitary  and  helpless  state  for  the  envied  one 
of  matrimony  —  a  state  highly  popular  among  the 
young  women  of  Ireland.  Some  of  the  Misses  Bryan 
had  now  reached  the  years  of  womanhood,  several 
of  them  scarcely;  but  these  small  disqualifications 
made  no  difference  in  the  estimation  of  the  young 
ladies  themselves;  each  and  all  of  them  brushed  up 
for  the  competition,  with  high  hopes  and  unflinching 
resolutions.  True,  the  elder  ones  tried  to  check  the 
younger  in  their  good-natured,  forthright,  Irish 
way;  but  they  retorted,  and  persisted  in  their 
superior  pretensions.  Then  there  was  such  shopping 
in  the  country-town !  It  was  so  boundless,  that  the 
credit  of  the  Hall  was  finally  exhausted,  and  the  old 
squire  was  driven  to  remark,  that  "Och  and  to  be 


72 


BEST   ENGLISH   TALES' 


sure  it  was  a  dreadful  and  tirrabell  concussion,  to  be 
put  upon  the  equipment  of  seven  daughters  all  at 
the  same  moment,  as  if  the  young  gentleman  could 
marry  them  all!  Och,  then,  poor  dear  shoul,  he 
would  be  after  finding  that  one  was  sufficient,  if 
not  one  too  many.  And  therefore,  there  was  no 
occasion,  none  at  all,  at  all,  and  that  there  was  not, 
for  any  of  them  to  rig  out  more  than  one." 

It  was  hinted  that  the  Laird  had  some  reason  for 
complaint  at  this  time;  but  as  the  lady  sided  with 
her  daughters,  he  had  no  chance.  One  of  the  items 
of  his  account  was,  thirty-seven  buckling-combs, 
then  greatly  in  vogue.  There  were  black  combs, 
pale  combs,  yellow  combs,  and  gilt  ones,  all  to  suit 
or  set  off  various  complexions;  and  if  other  articles 
bore  any  proportion  at  all  to  these,  it  had  been  better 
for  the  Laird  and  all  his  family  that  Birkendelly  had 
never  set  foot  in  Ireland. 

The  plan  was  all  concocted.  There  was  to  be  a 
grand  dinner  at  the  Hall,  at  which  the  damsels  were 
to  appear  in  all  their  finery.  A  ball  was  to  follow, 
and  note  be  taken  which  of  the  young  ladies  was 
their  guest's  choice,  and  measures  taken  accordingly. 
The  dinner  and  the  ball  took  place;  and  what  a 
pity  I  may  not  describe  that  entertainment,  the 
dresses,  and  the  dancers,  for  they  were  all  exquisite 
in  their  way,  and  outre  beyond  measure.  But  such 
details  only  serve  to  derange  a  winter  evening's 
tale  such  as  this. 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  73 

Birkendelly  having  at  this  time  but  one  model  for 
his  choice  among  womankind,  all  that  ever  he  did 
while  in  the  presence  of  ladies,  was  to  look  out  for 
some  resemblance  to  her,  the  angel  of  his  fancy;  and 
it  so  happened,  that  in  one  of  old  Bryan's  daughters 
named  Luna,  or  more  familiarly,  Loony,  he  per- 
ceived, or  thought  he  perceived,  some  imaginary 
similarity  in  form  and  air  to  the  lovely  apparition. 
This  was  the  sole  reason  why  he  was  incapable  of 
taking  his  eyes  off  from  her  the  whole  of  that  night; 
and  this  incident  settled  the  point,  not  only  with 
the  old  people,  but  even  the  young  ladies  were  forced 
after  every  exertion  on  their  own  parts,  to  "yild 
the  pint  to  their  sister  Loony,  who  certainly  was  nit 
the  mist  genteelest  nor  mist  handsomest  of  that 
guid-lucking  fimily." 

The  next  day  Lady  Luna  was  dispatched  off  to 
the  cottage  in  grand  style,  there  to  live  hand  and 
glove  with  her  supposed  lover.  There  was  no 
standing  all  this.  There  were  the  two  parrocked 
together,  like  a  ewe  and  a  lamb,  early  and  late; 
and  though  the  Laird  really  appeared  to  have,  and 
probably  had,  some  delight  in  her  company,  it  was 
only  in  contemplating  that  certain  indefinable  air 
of  resemblance  which  she  bore  to  the  sole  image 
impressed  on  his  heart.  He  bought  her  a  white 
gauze  frock,  a  green  bonnet  and  feathers,  with  a 
veil,  which  she  was  obliged  to  wear  thrown  over  her 


74 


BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 


left  shoulder;  and  every  day  after,  six  times  a-day, 
was  she  obliged  to  walk  over  a  certain  eminence  at 
a  certain  distance  before  her  lover.  She  was  de- 
lighted to  oblige  him;  but  still  when  he  came  up,  he 
looked  disappointed,  and  never  said,  "Luna,  I  love 
you;  when  are  we  to  be  married?"  No,  he  never 
said  any  such  thing,  for  all  her  looks  and  expressions 
of  fondest  love;  for,  alas,  in  all  this  dalliance,  he 
was  only  feeding  a  mysterious  flame,  that  preyed 
upon  his  vitals,  and  proved  too  severe  for  the 
powers  either  of  reason  or  religion  to  extinguish. 
Still,  time  flew  lighter  and  lighter  by,  his  health  was 
restored,  the  bloom  of  his  cheek  returned,  and  the 
frank  and  simple  confidence  of  Luna  had  a  certain 
charm  with  it,  that  reconciled  him  to  his  sister's 
Irish  economy.  But  a  strange  incident  now  hap- 
pened to  him  which  deranged  all  his  immediate 
plans.  ' 

He  was  returning  from  angling  one  evening,  a 
little  before  sunset,  when  he  saw  Lady  Luna  await- 
ing him  on  his  way  home.  But  instead  of  brushing 
up  to  meet  him  as  usual,  she  turned,  and  walked  up 
the  rising  ground  before  him.  "Poor  sweet  girl! 
how  condescending  she  is,"  said  he  to  himself,  "and 
how  like  she  is  in  reality  to  the  angelic  being  whose 
form  and  features  are  so  deeply  impressed  on  my 
heart!  I  now  see  it  is  no  fond  or  fancied  resemblance. 
It  is  real !  real !  real !  How  I  long  to  clasp  her  in  my 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  75 

arms,  and  tell  her  how  I  love  her;  for,  after  all  that 
is  the  girl  that  is  to  be  mine,  and  the  former  a  vision 
to  impress  this  the  more  on  my  heart." 

He  posted  up  the  ascent  to  overtake  her.  When 
at  the  top  she  turned,  smiled,  and  curtsied.  Good 
heavens!  it  was  the  identical  lady  of  his  fondest 
adoration  herself,  but  lovelier,  far  lovelier  than  ever. 
He  expected  every  moment  that  she  would  vanish 
as  was  her  wont;  but  she  did  not  —  she  awaited 
him,  and  received  his  embraces  with  open  arms. 
She  was  a  being  of  real  flesh  and  blood,  courteous, 
elegant,  and  affectionate.  He  kissed  her  hand,  he 
kissed  her  glowing  cheek,  and  blessed  all  the  powers 
of  love  who  had  thus  restored  her  to  him  again, 
after  undergoing  pangs  of  love  such  as  man  never 
suffered. 

"But,  dearest  heart,  here  we  are  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  highway,"  said  he;  "suffer  me  to 
conduct  you  to  my  sister's  house,  where  you  shall 
have  an  apartment  with  a  child  of  nature  having 
some  slight  resemblance  to  yourself."  She  smiled, 
and  said,  "No,  I  will  not  sleep  with  Lady  Luna  to- 
night. Will  you  please  to  look  round  you,  and  see 
where  you  are?"  He  did  so,  and  behold  they  were 
standing  on  the  Birky  Brow,  on  the  only  spot  where 
he  had  ever  seen  her.  She  smiled  at  his  embar- 
rassed look,  and  asked  if  he  did  not  remember  aught 
of  his  coming  over  from  Ireland.  He  said  he  thought 


76  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

he  did  remember  something  of  it,  but  love  with  him 
had  long  absorbed  every  other  sense.  He  then 
asked  her  to  his  own  house,  which  she  declined, 
saying  she  could  only  meet  him  on  that  spot  till 
after  their  marriage,  which  could  not  be  before  St. 
Lawrence's  Eve  come  three  years.  "And  now," 
said  she,  "we  must  part.  My  name  is  Jane  Ogilvie, 
and  you  were  betrothed  to  me  before  you  were 
born.  But  I  am  come  to  release  you  this  evening, 
if  you  have  the  slightest  objection." 

He  declared  he  had  none;  and,  kneeling,  swore 
the  most  solemn  oath  to  be  hers  forever,  and  to 
meet  her  there  on  St.  Lawrence's  Eve  next,  and 
every  St.  Lawrence's  Eve  until  that  blessed  day  on 
which  she  had  consented  to  make  him  happy,  by 
becoming  his  own  forever.  She  then  asked  him 
affectionately  to  exchange  rings  with  her,  in  pledge 
of  their  faith  and  truth,  in  which  he  joyfully  acqui- 
esced; for  she  could  not  have  then  asked  any  con- 
ditions which,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart's  love,  he 
would  not  have  granted;  and  after  one  fond  and 
affectionate  kiss,  and  repeating  all  their  engage- 
ments over  again,  they  parted. 

Birkendelly's  heart  was  now  melted  within  him, 
and  all  his  senses  overpowered  by  one  overwhelming 
passion.  On  leaving  his  fair  and  kind  one,  he  got 
bewildered,  and  could  not  find  the  road  to  his  own 
house,  believing  sometimes  that  he  was  going 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  77 

there,  and  sometimes  to  his  sister's,  till  at  length  he 
came,  as  he  thought,  upon  the  LifFey,  at  its  junction 
with  Loch  Allan;  and  there,  in  attempting  to  call 
for  a  boat,  he  awoke  from  a  profound  sleep,  and 
found  himself  lying  in  his  bed  within  his  sister's 
house,  and  the  day  sky  just  breaking. 

If  he  was  puzzled  to  account  for  some  things  in 
the  course  of  his  dream,  he  was  much  more  puzzled 
to  account  for  them  now  that  he  was  wide  awake. 
He  was  sensible  that  he  had  met  his  love,  and 
embraced,  kissed,  and  exchanged  vows  and  rings 
with  her,  and,  in  token  of  the  truth  and  reality  of  all 
these,  her  emerald  ring  was  on  his  finger,  and  his 
own  away;  so  there  was  no  doubt  that  they  had 
met, —  by  what  means  it  was  beyond  the  power  of 
man  to  calculate. 

There  was  then  living  with  Mrs.  Bryan  an  old 
Scotswoman,  commonly  styled  Lucky  Black.  She 
had  nursed  Birkendelly's  mother,  and  been  dry 
nurse  to  himself  and  sister;  and  having  more  than  a 
mother's  attachment  for  the  latter,  when  she  was 
married,  old  Lucky  left  her  country,  to  spend  the 
last  of  her  days  in  the  house  of  her  beloved  young 
lady.  When  the  Laird  entered  the  breakfast 
parlor  that  morning,  she  was  sitting  in  her  black 
velvet  hood,  as  usual,  reading  "The  Fourfold  State 
of  Man,"  and  being  paralytic  and  somewhat  deaf, 
she  seldom  regarded  those  who  went  out  or  came  in. 


78  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

But  chancing  to  hear  him  say  something  about  the 
ninth  of  August,  she  quitted  reading,  turned  round 
her  head  to  listen,  and  then  asked,  in  a  hoarse 
tremulous  voice,  "What's  that  he's  saying?  What's 
the  unlucky  callant  saying  about  the  ninth  of 
August?  Aih?  To  be  sure  it  is  St.  Lawrence's  Eve, 
although  the  tenth  be  his  day.  It's  ower  true,  ower 
true!  ower  true  for  him  an'  a'  his  kin,  poor  man! 
Aih!  What  was  he  saying  then?" 

The  men  smiled  at  her  incoherent  earnestness, 
but  the  lady,  with  true  feminine  condescension, 
informed  her,  in  a  loud  voice,  that  Allan  had  an 
engagement  in  Scotland  on  St.  Lawrence's  Eve. 
She  then  started  up,  extended  her  shrivelled  hands, 
that  shook  like  the  aspen,  and  panted  out,  "Am, 
aih?  Lord  preserve  us!  whaten  an  engagement  has 
he  on  St.  Lawrence  Eve?  Bind  him!  bind  him! 
shackle  him  wi'  bands  of  steel,  and  of  brass,  and  of 
iron ! —  O,  may  He  whose  blessed  will  was  pleased  to 
leave  him  an  orphan  sae  soon,  preserve  him  from  the 
fate  which  I  tremble  to  think  on!" 

She  then  tottered  round  the  table,  as  with  super- 
natural energy,  and  seizing  the  Laird's  right  hand, 
she  drew  it  close  to  her  unstable  eyes,  and  then  per- 
ceiving the  emerald  ring  chased  in  blood,  she  threw 
up  her  arms  with  a  jerk,  opened  her  skinny  jaws  with 
a  fearful  gape,  and  uttering  a  shriek,  that  made  all 
the  house  yell,  and  every  one  within  it  to  tremble, 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  79 

she  fell  back  lifeless  and  rigid  on  the  floor.  The 
gentlemen  both  fled,  out  of  sheer  terror;  but  a 
woman  never  deserts  her  friends  in  extremity.  The 
lady  called  her  maids  about  her,  had  her  old  nurse 
conveyed  to  bed,  where  every  means  were  used  to 
restore  animation.  But,  alas!  life  was  extinct! 
The  vital  spark  had  fled  forever,  which  filled  all 
their  hearts  with  grief,  disappointment,  and  horror, 
as  some  dreadful  tale  of  mystery  was  now  sealed  up 
from  their  knowledge,  which  in  all  likelihood  no 
other  could  reveal.  But  to  say  the  truth,  the  Laird 
did  not  seem  greatly  disposed  to  probe  it  to  the 
bottom. 

Not  all  the  arguments  of  Captain  Bryan  and  his 
lady,  nor  the  simple  entreaties  of  Lady  Luna,  could 
induce  Birkendelly  to  put  off  his  engagement  to 
meet  his  love  on  the  Birky  Brow  on  the  evening  of 
the  gth  of  August;  but  he  promised  soon  to  return, 
pretending  that  some  business  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance called  him  away.  Before  he  went,  however,  he 
asked  his  sister  if  ever  she  had  heard  of  such  a  lady 
in  Scotland  as  Jane  Ogilvie.  Mrs.  Bryan  repeated 
the  name  many  times  to  herself,  and  said,  that  name 
undoubtedly  was  once  familiar  to  her,  although  she 
thought  not  for  good,  but  at  that  moment  she  did 
not  recollect  one  single  individual  of  the  name. 
He  then  showed  her  the  emerald  ring  that  had  been 
the  death  of  old  Lucky  Black;  but  the  moment  the 


80  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

lady  looked  at  it,  she  made  a  grasp  at  it  to  take  it  off 
by  force,  which  she  had  very  nearly  effected.  "O, 
burn  it,  burn  it!"  cried  she;  "it  is  not  a  right  ring! 
Burn  it!" 

"My  dear  sister,  what  fault  is  in  the  ring?"  said 
he.  "It  is  a  very  pretty  ring,  and  one  that  I  set 
great  value  by." 

"O,  for  Heaven's  sake,  burn  it,  and  renounce  the 
giver!"  cried  she.  "If  you  have  any  regard  for  your 
peace  here,  or  your  soul's  welfare  hereafter,  burn 
that  ring!  If  you  saw  with  your  own  eyes,  you 
would  easily  perceive  that  that  is  not  a  ring  befitting 
a  Christian  to  wear." 

This  speech  confounded  Birkendelly  a  good  deal. 
He  retired  by  himself  and  examined  the  ring,  and 
could  see  nothing  in  it  unbecoming  a  Christian  to 
wear.  It  was  a  chased  gold  ring,  with  a  bright 
emerald,  which  last  had  a  red  foil,  in  some  lights 
giving  it  a  purple  gleam,  and  inside  was  engraven 
"Elegit"  much  defaced,  but  that  his  sister  could 
not  see;  therefore  he  could  not  comprehend  her 
vehement  injunctions  concerning  it.  But  that  it 
might  no  more  give  her  offence,  or  any  other,  he 
sewed  it  within  his  vest,  opposite  his  heart,  judging 
that  there  was  something  in  it  which  his  eyes  were 
withholden  from  discerning. 

Thus  he  left  Ireland  with  his  mind  in  great  con- 
fusion, groping  his  way,  as  it  were,  in  a  hole  of 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  8l 

mystery,  yet  with  the  passion  that  preyed  on  his 
heart  and  vitals  more  intense  than  ever.  He  seems 
to  have  had  an  impression  all  his  life  that  some 
mysterious  fate  awaited  him,  which  the  correspond- 
ence of  his  dreams  and  day  visions  tended  to  con- 
firm. And  though  he  gave  himself  wholly  up  to  the 
sway  of  one  overpowering  passion,  it  was  not  with- 
out some  yearnings  of  soul,  manifestations  of  terror, 
and  so  much  earthly  shame,  that  he  never  more 
mentioned  his  love,  or  his  engagements,  to  any 
human  being,  not  even  to  his  friend  M'Murdie, 
whose  company  he  forthwith  shunned. 

It  is  on  this  account  that  I  am  unable  to  relate 
what  passed  between  the  lovers  thenceforward.  It 
is  certain  they  met  at  the  Birky  Brow  that  St. 
Lawrence's  Eve,  for  they  were  seen  in  company  to- 
gether; but  of  the  engagements,  vows,  or  dalliance, 
that  passed  between  them,  I  can  say  nothing;  nor 
of  all  their  future  meetings,  until  the  beginning  of 
August  1781,  when  the  Laird  began  decidedly  to 
make  preparations  for  his  approaching  marriage; 
yet  not  as  if  he  and  his  betrothed  had  been  to  reside 
at  Birkendelly,  all  his  provisions  rather  bespeaking 
a  meditated  journey. 

On  the  morning  of  the  pth,  he  wrote  to  his  sister, 
and  then  arraying  himself  in  his  new  wedding  suit, 
and  putting  the  emerald  ring  on  his  finger,  he 
appeared  all  impatience,  until  towards  evening, 


82  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

when  he  sallied  out  on  horseback  to  his  appointment. 
It  seems  that  his  mysterious  inamorata  had  met 
him,  for  he  was  seen  riding  through  the  big  town 
before  sunset,  with  a  young  lady  behind  him,  dressed 
in  white  and  green,  and  the  villagers  affirmed  that 
they  were  riding  at  the  rate  of  fifty  miles  an  hour! 
They  were  seen  to  pass  a  cottage  called  Mosskilt, 
ten  miles  farther  on,  where  there  was  no  highway, 
at  the  same  tremendous  speed;  and  I  could  never 
hear  that  they  were  any  more  seen,  until  the  follow- 
ing morning,  when  Birkendelly's  fine  bay  horse  was 
found  lying  dead  at  his  own  stable  door;  and  shortly 
after,  his  master  was  likewise  discovered  lying  a 
blackened  corpse  on  the  Birky  Brow,  at  the  very 
spot  where  the  mysterious,  but  lovely  dame,  had 
always  appeared  to  him.  There  was  neither  wound, 
bruise,  nor  dislocation,  in  his  whole  frame;  but  his 
skin  was  of  a  livid  color,  and  his  features  terribly 
distorted. 

This  woful  catastrophe  struck  the  neighborhood 
with  great  consternation,  so  that  nothing  else  was 
talked  of.  Every  ancient  tradition  and  modern 
incident  were  raked  together,  compared,  and  com- 
bined; and  certainly  a  most  rare  concatenation  of 
misfortunes  was  elicited.  It  was  authenticated  that 
his  father  had  died  on  the  same  spot  that  day 
twenty  years,  and  his  grandfather  that  day  forty 
years,  the  former,  as  was  supposed,  by  a  fall  from 


THE    MYSTERIOUS   BRIDE  83 

his  horse  when  in  liquor,  and  the  latter,  nobody 
knew  how;  and  now  this  Allan  was  the  last  of  his 
race,  for  Mrs.  Bryan  had  no  children. 

It  was  moreover  now  remembered  by  many,  and 
among  the  rest  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Taylor,  that  he 
had  frequently  observed  a  young  lady,  in  white  and 
green,  sauntering  about  the  spot  on  a  St.  Lawrence's 
Eve. 

When  Captain  Bryan  and  his  lady  arrived  to  take 
possession  of  the  premises,  they  instituted  a  strict 
inquiry  into  every  circumstance;  but  nothing 
farther  than  what  was  related  to  them  by  Mr. 
M'Murdie  could  be  learned  of  this  Mysterious 
Bride,  besides  what  the  Laird's  own  letter  bore.  It 
ran  thus:  — 

"DEAREST  SISTER, 

"I  shall  before  this  time  to-morrow,  be  the  most  happy, 
or  most  miserable,  of  mankind,  having  solemnly  engaged 
myself  this  night  to  wed  a  young  and  beautiful  lady 
named  Jane  Ogilvie,  to  whom  it  seems  I  was  betrothed 
before  I  was  born.  Our  correspondence  has  been  of  a 
most  private  and  mysterious  nature;  but  my  troth  is 
pledged,  and  my  resolution  fixed.  We  set  out  on  a  far 
journey  to  the  place  of  her  abode  on  the  nuptial  eve,  so 
that  it  will  be  long  before  I  see  you  again. 
"Yours  till  death, 

"ALLAN  GEORGE  SANDISON. 

' Birkendelly,  August  8th,  1781." 

That  very  same  year,  an  old  woman,  named 


84  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Marion  Haw,  was  returned  upon  that,  her  native 
parish,  from  Glasgow.  She  had  led  a  migratory  life 
with  her  son  —  who  was  what  he  called  a  bell- 
hanger,  but  in  fact  a  tinker  of  the  worst  grade  —  for 
many  years,  and  was  at  last  returned  to  the  muckle 
town  in  a  state  of  great  destitution.  She  gave  the 
parishioners  a  history  of  the  Mysterious  Bride,  so 
plausibly  correct,  but  withal  so  romantic,  that 
everybody  said  of  it,  (as  is  often  said  of  my  narra- 
tives, with  the  same  narrow-minded  prejudice  and 
injustice,)  that  it  was  a  made  story.  There  were, 
however,  some  strong  testimonies  of  its  veracity 
She  said  the  first  Allan  Sandison,  who  married 
the  great  heiress  of  Birkendelly,  was  previously 
engaged  to  a  beautiful  young  lady,  named  Jane 
Ogilvie,  to  whom  he  gave  anything  but  fair  play; 
and,  as  she  believed,  either  murdered  her,  or  caused 
her  to  be  murdered,  in  the  midst  of  a  thkket  of  birch 
and  broom,  at  a  spot  which  she  mentioned;  that  she 
had  good  reasons  for  believing  so,  as  she  had  seen 
the  red  blood  and  the  new  grave,  when  she  was  a 
little  girl,  and  ran  home  and  mentioned  it  to  her 
grandfather,  who  charged  her  as  she  valued  her  life 
never  to  mention  that  again,  as  it  was  only  the 
nombles  and  hide  of  a  deer,  which  he  himself  had 
buried  there.  But  when  twenty  years  subsequent  to 
that,  the  wicked  and  unhappy  Allan  Sandison  was 
found  dead  on  that  very  spot,  and  lying  across  the 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    BRIDE  85 

green  mound,  then  nearly  level  with  the  surface, 
which  she  had  once  seen  a  new  grave,  she  then  for 
the  first  time  ever  thought  of  a  Divine  Providence; 
and  she  added,  "For  my  grandfather,  Neddy  Haw, 
he  dee'd  too;  there's  naebody  kens  how,  nor  ever 
shall." 

As  they  were  quite  incapable  of  conceiving,  from 
Marion's  description,  anything  of  the  spot,  Mr. 
M'Murdie  caused  her  to  be  taken  out  to  the  Birky 
Brow  in  a  cart,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Taylor,  and 
some  hundreds  of  the  townsfolks;  but  whenever  she 
saw  it,  she  said,  "Aha,  birkies!  the  haill  kintra's 
altered  now.  There  was  nae  road  here  then;  it 
gaed  straight  ower  the  tap  o'  the  hill.  An'  let  me 
see  —  there's  the  thorn  where  the  cushats  biggit; 
an'  there's  the  auld  birk  that  I  aince  fell  aff  an'  left 
my  shoe  stickin'  i'  the  cleft.  I  can  tell  ye,  birkies, 
either  the  deer's  grave,  or  bonny  Jane  Ogilvie's, 
is  no  twa  yards  aff  the  place  where  that  horse's  hind 
feet  are  standin';  sae  ye  may  howk,  an'  see  if  there 
be  ony  remains." 

The  minister,  and  M'Murdie,  and  all  the  people, 
stared  at  one  another,  for  they  had  purposely  caused 
the  horse  to  stand  still  on  the  very  spot  where  both 
the  father  and  son  had  been  found  dead.  They 
digged,  and  deep,  deep  below  the  road,  they  found 
part  of  the  slender  bones  and  skull  of  a  young  female, 
which  they  deposited  decently  in  the  churchyard. 


86  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

The  family  of  the  Sandisons  is  extinct  —  the  Mys- 
terious Bride  appears  no  more  on  the  Eve  of  St. 
Lawrence  —  and  the  wicked  people  of  the  great 
muckle  village  have  got  a  lesson  on  Divine  justice 
written  to  them  in  lines  of  blood. 


THE  PRINCESS'S  TRAGEDY 
BY  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 


THE  PRINCESS'S  TRAGEDY 

MORE  than  twenty  years  after  the  events  described 
in  the  past  chapters,  I  was  walking  with  my  Lady 
Lyndon,  in  the  Rotunda  at  Ranelagh.  It  was  in 
the  year  1790;  the  emigration  from  France  had 
already  commenced,  the  old  counts  and  marquises 
were  thronging  to  our  shores:  not  starving  and 
miserable,  as  one  saw  them  a  few  years  afterwards, 
but  unmolested  as  yet,  and  bringing  with  them 
some  token  of  their  national  splendor.  I  was  walk- 
ing with  Lady  Lyndon,  who,  proverbially  jealous 
and  always  anxious  to  annoy  me,  spied  out  a  foreign 
lady  who  was  evidently  remarking  me,  and  of 
course  asked  who  was  the  hideous  fat  Dutchwoman 
who  was  leering  at  me  so?  I  knew  her  n6t  in  the 
least.  I  felt  I  had  seen  the  lady's  face  somewhere; 
(it  was  now,  as  my  wife  said,  enormously  fat  and 
bloated;)  but  I  did  not  recognize  in  the  bearer  of 
that  face  one  who  had  been  among  the  most  beau- 
tiful women  in  Germany  in  her  day. 

It  was  no  other  than  Madame  de  Liliengarten, 
the  mistress,  or,  as  some  said,  the  morganatic  wife, 

of  the  old  Duke  of  X ,  Duke  Victor's  father. 

She  left  X a  few  months  after  the  elder  duke's 

demise,  had  gone  to  Paris,  as  I  heard,  where  some 
89 


90  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

unprincipled  adventurer  had  married  her  for  her 
money;  but,  however,  had  always  retained  her 
quasi-royal  title,  and  pretended,  amidst  the  great 
laughter  of  the  Parisians  who  frequented  her  house, 
to  the  honors  and  ceremonial  of  a  sovereign's  widow. 
She  had  a  throne  erected  in  her  stateroom,  and  was 
styled  by  her  servant  and  those  who  wished  to  pay 
court  to  her,  or  borrow  money  from  her,  "Altesse." 
Report  said  she  drank  rather  copiously  —  certainly 
her  face  bore  every  mark  of  that  habit,  and  had  lost 
the  rosy,  frank,  good-humored  beauty  which  had 
charmed  the  sovereign  who  had  ennobled  her. 

Although  she  did  not  address  me  in  the  circle  at 
Ranelagh,  I  was  at  this  period  as  well  known  as  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  she  had  no  difficulty  in  finding 
my  house  in  Berkeley  Square;  whither  a  note  was 
next  morning  despatched  to  me.  "An  old  friend  of 
Monsieur  de  Balibari,"  it  stated  (in  extremely  bad 
French),  "is  anxious  to  see  the  Chevalier  again  and 
to  talk  over  old  happy  times.  Rosina  de  Lilien- 
garten  (can  it  be  that  Redmond  Balibari  has  for- 
gotten her?)  will  be  at  her  house  in  Leicester  Fields 
all  the  morning,  looking  for  one  who  would  never 
have  passed  her  by  twenty  years  ago." 

Rosina  of  Liliengarten  it  was,  indeed  —  such  a 
full-blown  Rosina  I  have  seldom  seen.  I  found  her 
in  a  decent  first-floor  in  Leicester  Fields  (the  poor 
soul  fell  much  lower  afterwards)  drinking  tea, 


THE   PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  91 

which  had  somehow  a  very  strong  smell  of  brandy 
in  it;  and  after  salutations,  which  would  be  more 
tedious  to  recount  than  they  were  to  perform,  and 
after  further  straggling  conversation,  she  gave  me 
briefly  the  following  narrative  of  the  events  in 

X ,  which  I  may  well  entitle  the  "Princess's 

Tragedy." 


"You  remember  Monsieur  de  Geldern,  the  Police 
Minister.  He  was  of  Dutch  extraction,  and,  what 
is  more,  of  a  family  of  Dutch  Jews.  Although 
everybody  was  aware  of  this  blot  in  his  scutcheon, 
he  was  mortally  angry  if  ever  his  origin  was  sus- 
pected; and  made  up  for  his  father's  errors  by 
outrageous  professions  of  religion,  and  the  most 
austere  practices  of  devotion.  He  visiteo1  church 
every  morning,  confessed  once  a  week,  and  hated 
Jews  and  Protestants  as  much  as  an  inquisitor 
could  do.  He  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  proving 
his  sincerity,  by  persecuting  one  or  the  other  when- 
ever occasion  fell  in  his  way. 

"He  hated  the  princess  mortally;  for  her  highness 
in  some  whim  had  insulted  him  with  his  origin, 
caused  pork  to  be  removed  from  before  him  at 
table,  or  injured  him  in  some  such  silly  way;  and  he 
had  a  violent  animosity  to  the  old  Baron  de  Magny, 
both  in  his  capacity  of  Protestant,  and  because  the 


C)2  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

latter  in  some  haughty  mood  had  publicly  turned 
his  back  upon  him  as  a  sharper  and  a  spy.  Perpetual 
quarrels  were  taking  place  between  them  in  council; 
where  it  was  only  the  presence  of  his  august  masters 
that  restrained  the  baron  from  publicly  and  fre- 
quently expressing  the  contempt  which  he  felt  for 
the  officer  of  police. 

"Thus  Geldern  had  hatred  as  one  reason  for 
ruining  the  princess,  and  it  is  my  belief  he  had  a 
stronger  motive  still  —  interest.  You  remember 
whom  the  duke  married,  after  the  death  of  his  first 

wife? —  a  princess  of  the  house  of  F .  Geldern 

built  his  fine  palace  two  years  after,  and,  as  I  feel 
convinced,  with  the  money  which  was  paid  to  him 
by  the  F —  -  family  for  forwarding  the  match. 

"To  go  to  Prince  Victor  and  report  to  his  highness 
a  case  which  everybody  knew,  was  not  by  any  means 
Geldern's  desire.  He  knew  the  man  would  be  ruined 
forever  in  the  prince's  estimation  who  carried  him 
intelligence  so  disastrous.  His  aim,  therefore,  was  to 
leave  the  matter  to  explain  itself  to  his  highness; 
and,  when  the  time  was  ripe,  he  cast  about  for  a 
means  of  carrying  his  point.  He  had  spies  in  the 
houses  of  the  elder  and  younger  Magny;  but  this 
you  know,  of  course,  from  your  experience  of  Con- 
tinental customs.  We  had  spies  over  each  other. 
Your  black  (Zamar,  I  think,  was  his  name)  used  to 
give  me  reports  every  morning;  and  I  used  to  enter- 


THE    PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  93 

tain  the  dear  old  duke  with  stories  of  you  and  your 
uncle  practising  picquet  and  dice  in  the  morning,  and 
with  your  quarrels  and  intrigues.  We  levied  similar 

contributions  on  everybody  in  X ,  to  amuse  the 

dear  old  man.  Monsieur  de  Magny's  valet  used  to 
report  both  to  me  and  Monsieur  de  Geldern. 

"I  knew  of  the  fact  of  the  emerald  being  in  pawn; 
and  it  was  out  of  my  exchequer  that  the  poor  prin- 
cess drew  the  funds  which  were  spent  upon  the 
odious  Lowe,  and  the  still  more  worthless  young 
chevalier.  How  the  princess  could  trust  the  latter 
as  she  persisted  in  doing,  is  beyond  my  compre- 
hension; but  there  is  no  infatuation  like  that  of  a 
woman  in  love:  and  you  will  remark,  my  dear 
Monsieur  de  Balibari,  that  our  sex  generally  fix 
upon  a  bad  man.'' 

"Not  always,  madam,"  I  interposed;  "your 
humble  servant  has  created  many  such  attach- 
ments." 

"I  do  not  see  that  that  affects  the  truth  of  the 
proposition,"  said  the  old  lady  dryly,  and  con- 
tinued her  narrative.  "The  Jew  who  held  the 
emerald  had  had  many  dealings  with  the  princess, 
and  at  last  was  offered  a  bribe  of  such  magnitude 
that  he  determined  to  give  up  the  pledge.  He  com- 
mitted the  inconceivable  imprudence  of  bringing  the 
emerald  with  him  to  X ,  and  waited  on  Magny, 


94  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

who  was  provided  by  the  princess  with  the  money  to 
redeem  the  pledge,  and  was  actually  ready  to  pay  it. 

"Their  interview  took  place  in  Magny's  own 
apartments,  when  his  valet  overheard  every  word 
of  their  conversation.  The  young  man,  who  was 
always  utterly  careless  of  money  when  it  was  in  his 
possession,  was  so  easy  in  offering  it,  that  Lowe 
rose  in  his  demands,  and  had  the  conscience  to  ask 
double  the  sum  for  which  he  had  previously  stipu- 
lated. 

"At  this  the  chevalier  lost  all  patience,  fell  on  the 
wretch,  and  was  for  killing  him;  when  the  oppor- 
tune valet  rushed  in  and  saved  him.  The  man  had 
heard  every  word  of  the  conversation  between  the 
disputants,  and  the  Jew  ran  flying  with  terror  into 
his  arms;  and  Magny,  a  quick  and  passionate,  but 
not  a  violent  man,  bade  the  servant  lead  the  villain 
downstairs,  and  thought  no  more  of  him. 

"Perhaps  he  was  not  sorry  to  be  rid  of  him,  and 
to  have  in  his  possession  a  large  sum  of  money,  four 
thousand  ducats,  with  which  he  could  tempt 
fortune  once  more;  as  you  know  he  did  at  your 
table  that  night." 

"Your  ladyship  went  halves,  madam,"  said  I; 
"and  you  know  how  little  I  was  the  better  for  my 
winnings." 

"The  man  conducted  the  trembling  Israelite  out 
of  the  palace,  and  no  sooner  had  seen  him  lodged  at 


THE   PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  95 

the  house  of  one  of  his  brethren,  where  he  was 
accustomed  to  put  up,  than  he  went  away  to  the 
office  of  his  Excellency  the  Minister  of  Police,  and 
narrated  every  word  of  the  conversation  which  had 
taken  place  between  the  Jew  and  his  master. 

"Geldern  expressed  the  greatest  satisfaction  at 
his  spy's  prudence  and  fidelity.  He  gave  him  a 
purse  of  twenty  ducats,  and  promised  to  provide 
for  him  handsomely:  as  great  men  do  sometimes 
promise  to  reward  their  instruments;  but  you, 
Monsieur  de  Balibari,  know  how  seldom  those 
promises  are  kept.  'Now,  go  and  find  out,'  said 
Monsieur  de  Geldern,  'at  what  time  the  Israelite 
proposes  to  return  home  again,  or  whether  ,he  will 
repent  and  take  the  money.'  The  man  went  on 
this  errand.  Meanwhile,  to  make  matters  sure, 
Geldern  arranged  a  play-party  at  my  house, 
inviting  you  thither  with  your  bank,  as  you  may 
remember;  and  finding  means,  at  the  same  time,  to 
let  Maxime  de  Magny  know  that  there  was  to  be 
faro  at  Madame  de  Liliengarten's.  It  was  an 
invitation  the  poor  fellow  never  neglected." 

I  remembered  the  facts  and  listened  on,  amazed 
at  the  artifice  of  the  infernal  Minister  of  Police. 

"The  spy  came  back  from  his  message  to  Lowe, 
and  stated  that  he  had  made  inquiries  among  the 
servants  of  the  house  where  the  Heidelberg  banker 
lodged,  and  that  it  was  the  latter's  intention  to 


96  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

leave  X that  afternoon.  He  travelled  by  him- 
self, riding  an  old  horse,  exceedingly  humbly  attired, 
after  the  manner  of  his  people. 

'"  Johann,'  said  the  Minister,  clapping  the  pleased 
spy  upon  the  shoulder,  'I  am  more  and  more 
pleased  with  you.  I  have  been  thinking,  since  you 
left  me,  of  your  intelligence,  and  the  faithful 
manner  in  which  you  have  served  me;  and  shall 
soon  find  an  occasion  to  place  you  according  to 
your  merits.  Which  way  does  this  Israelitish 
scroundrel  take?' 

"'He  goes  to  R to-night.' 

"  'And  must  pass  by  the  Kaiserwald.  Are  you  a 
man  of  courage,  Johann  Kerner?' 

"  'Will  your  Excellency  try  me?'  said  the  man,  his 
eyes  glittering:  'I  served  through  the  Seven  Years' 
War,  and  was  never  known  to  fail  there/ 

'"Now,  listen.  The  emerald  must  be  taken  from 
that  Jew:  in  the  very  keeping  it  the  scoundrel  has 
committed  high  treason.  To  the  man  who  brings 
me  that  emerald  I  swear  I  will  give  five  hundred 
louis.  You  understand  why  it  is  necessary  that  it 
should  be  restored  to  her  highness.  I  need  say  no 
more.' 

"'You  shall  have  it  to-night,  sir,'  said  the  man. 
'  Of  course  your  Excellency  will  hold  me  harmless  in 
case  of  accident.' 

"'Psha!'  answered  the  Minister;  'I  will  pay  you 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY 


97 


half  the  money  beforehand;  such  is  my  confidence 
in  you.  Accident's  impossible,  if  you  take  your 
measures  properly.  There  are  four  leagues  of  wood; 
the  Jew  rides  slowly.  It  will  be  night  before  he  can 
reach,  let  us  say,  the  old  Powder-Mill  in  the  wood. 
What's  to  prevent  you  from  putting  a  rope  across 
the  road,  and  dealing  with  him  there?  Be  back  with 
me  this  evening  at  supper.  If  you  meet  any  of  the 
patrol,  say  "Foxes  are  loose," —  that's  the  word  for 
to-night.  They  will  let  you  pass  them  without 
questions.' 

"The  man  went  off  quite  charmed  with  his  com- 
mission; and  when  Magny  was  losing  his  money  at 
our  faro-table,  his  servant  waylaid  the  Jew  at  the 
spot  named  the  Powder-Mill,  in  the  Kaiserwald. 
The  Jew's  horse  stumbled  over  a  rope  which  had 
been  placed  across  the  road;  and,  as  the  rider  fell 
groaning  to  the  ground,  Johann  Kerner  rushed  out 
on  him,  masked,  and  pistol  in  hand,  and  demanded 
his  money.  He  had  no  wish  to  kill  the  Jew,  I 
believe,  unless  his  resistance  should  render  extreme 
measures  necessary. 

"Nor  did  he  commit  any  such  murder;  for,  as  the 
yelling  Jew  roared  for  mercy,  and  his  assailant 
menaced  him  with  a  pistol,  a  squad  of  patrol  came 
up,  and  laid  hold  of  the  robber  and  the  wounded 
man. 

"Kerner  swore  an  oath.     'You  have  come  too 


98  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

soon/  said  he  to  the  sergeant  of  the  police.  'Foxes 
are  loose.'  'Some  are  caught/  said  the  sergeant, 
quite  unconcerned;  and  bound  the  fellow's  hands 
with  the  rope  which  he  had  stretched  across  the 
road  to  entrap  the  Jew.  He  was  placed  behind  a 
policeman  on  a  horse;  Lowe  was  similarly  accom- 
modated, and  the  party  thus  came  back  into  the 
town  as  the  night  fell. 

"They  were  taken  forthwith  to  the  police  quarter; 
and,  as  the  chief  happened  to  be  there,  they  were 
examined  by  his  Excellency  in  person.  Both  were 
rigorously  searched;  the  Jew's  papers  and  cases 
taken  from  him:  the  jewel  was  found  in  a  private 
pocket.  As  for  the  spy,  the  Minister,  looking  at 
him  angrily,  said,  'Why,  this  is  the  servant  of 
Chevalier  de  Magny,  one  of  her  highness's  equer- 
ries!' and,  without  hearing  a  word  in  exculpation 
from  the  poor  frightened  wretch,  ordered  him  into 
close  confinement. 

"  Calling  for  his  horse,  he  then  rode  to  the  prince's 
apartments  at  the  palace,  and  asked  for  an  instant 
audience.  When  admitted,  he  produced  the 
emerald.  'This  jewel/  said  he,  'has  been  found  on 
the  person  of  a  Heidelberg  Jew,  who  has  been  here 
repeatedly  of  late,  and  has  had  many  dealings  with 
her  highness's  equerry,  the  Chevalier  de  Magny. 
This  afternoon  the  chevalier's  servant  came  from 
his  master's  lodgings,  accompanied  by  the  Hebrew; 


THE    PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  99 

was  heard  to  make  inquiries  as  to  the  route  the  man 
intended  to  take  on  his  way  homewards;  followed 
him,  or  preceded  him  rather,  and  was  found  in  the 
act  of  rifling  his  victim  by  my  police  in  the  Kaiser- 
wald.  The  man  will  confess  nothing;  but,  on  being 
searched,  a  large  sum  in  gold  was  found  on  his 
person;  and  though  it  is  with  the  utmost  pain  that 
I  can  bring  myself  to  entertain  such  an  opinion,  and 
to  implicate  a  gentleman  of  the  character  and  name 
of  Monsieur  de  Magny,  I  do  submit  that  our  duty 
is  to  have  the  chevalier  examined  relative  to  the 
affair.  As  Monsieur  de  Magny  is  in  her  highness's 
private  service,  and  in  her  confidence,  I  have  heard, 
I  would  not  venture  to  apprehend  him  without  your 
highness's  permission/ 

"The  prince's  Master  of  the  Horse,  a  friend  of  the 
old  Baron  de  Magny,  who  was  present  at  the  inter- 
view, no  sooner  heard  the  strange  intelligence,  than 
he  hastened  away  to  the  old  general  with  the 
dreadful  news  of  his  grandson's  supposed  crime. 
Perhaps  his  highness  himself  was  not  unwilling 
that  his  old  friend  and  tutor  in  arms  should  have 
the  chance  of  saving  his  family  from  disgrace;  at 
all  events,  Monsieur  de  Hengst,  the  Master  of  the 
Horse,  was  permitted  to  go  off  to  the  baron  undis- 
turbed, and  break  to  him  the  intelligence  of  the 
accusation  pending  over  the  unfortunate  chevalier. 

"It  is  possible  that  he  expected  some  such  dread- 


100  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

ful  catastrophe,  for,  after  hearing  Hengst's  narrative 
(as  the  latter  afterwards  told  me),  he  only  said, 
*  Heaven's  will  be  done!'  for  some  time  refused  to 
stir  a  step  in  the  matter,  and  then  only  by  the 
solicitation  of  his  friend  was  induced  to  write  the 
letter  which  Maxime  de  Magny  received  at  our 
play-table. 

"Whilst  he  was  there,  squandering  the  princess's 
money,  a  police  visit  was  paid  to  his  apartments, 
and  a  hundred  proofs,  not  of  his  own  guilt  with 
respect  to  the  robbery,  but  of  his  guilty  connection 
with  the  princess,  were  discovered  there, —  tokens 
of  her  giving,  passionate  letters  from  her,  copies  of 
his  own  correspondence  to  his  young  friends  at 
Paris, —  all  of  which  the  Police  Minister  perused, 
and  carefully  put  together  under  seal  for  his  high- 
ness, Prince  Victor.  I  have  no  doubt  he  perused 
them,  for,  on  delivering  them  to  the  hereditary 
prince,  Geldern  said  that,  in  obedience  to  his  high- 
ness's  orders,  he  had  collected  the  chevalier's  papers; 
but  he  need  not  say  that,  on  his  honor,  he  (Geldern) 
himself  had  never  examined  the  documents.  His 
difference  with  Messieurs  de  Magny  was  known; 
he  begged  his  highness  to  employ  any  other  official 
person  in  the  judgment  of  the  accusation  brought 
against  the  young  chevalier. 

"All  these  things  were  going  on  while  the  cheva- 
lier was  at  play.  A  run  of  luck  —  you  had  great 


THE    PRINCESS'S- TRAGEDY  joi 

luck  in  those  days,  Monsieur  de  Balibari  —  was 
against  him.  He  stayed  and  lost  his  4,000  ducats. 
He  received  his  uncle's  note,  and,  such  was  the  in- 
fatuation of  the  wretched  gambler,  that,  on  receipt 
of  it,  he  went  down  to  the  courtyard,  where  the 
horse  was  in  waiting,  absolutely  took  the  money 
which  the  poor  old  gentleman  had  placed  in  the 
saddle-holsters,  brought  it  upstairs,  played  it,  and 
lost  it;  and  when  he  issued  from  the  room  to  fly,  it 
was  too  late:  he  was  placed  in  arrest  at  the  bottom 
of  my  staircase,  as  you  were  upon  entering  your  own 
home. 

"Even  when  he  came  in  under  the  charge  of  the 
soldiery,  sent  to  arrest  him,  the  old  general  who  was 
waiting,  was  overjoyed  to  see  him,  and  flung  him- 
self into  the  lad's  arms,  and  embraced  him:  it  was 
said,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years.  'He  is  here, 
gentlemen/  he  sobbed  out, — '  thank  God,  he  is  not 
guilty  of  the  robbery!'  and  then  sank  back  in  a 
chair  in  a  burst  of  emotion ;  painful  it  was  said  by 
those  present,  to  witness  on  the  part  of  a  man  so 
brave,  and  known  to  be  so  cold  and  stern. 

" '  Robbery !'  said  the  young  man, '  I  swear  before 
heaven  I  am  guilty  of  none!'  and  a  scene  of  most 
touching  reconciliation  passed  between  them,  before 
the  unhappy  young  man  was  led  from  the  guard- 
house into  the  prison  which  he  was  destined  never  to 
quit. 


102  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"That  night  the  duke  looked  over  the  papers 
which  Geldern  had  brought  to  him.  It  was  at  a 
very  early  stage  of  the  perusal,  no  doubt,  that  he 
gave  orders  for  your  arrest;  for  you  were  taken  at 
midnight,  Magny  at  ten  o'clock;  after  which  time 
the  old  Baron  de  Magny  had  seen  his  highness, 
protesting  of  his  grandson's  innocence,  and  the 
prince  had  received  him  most  graciously  and  kindly. 
His  highness  said  he  had  no  doubt  the  young  man 
was  innocent;  his  birth  and  his  blood  rendered  such 
a  crime  impossible;  but  suspicion  was  too  strong 
against  him;  he  was  known  to  have  been  that  day 
closeted  with  the  Jew;  to  have  received  a  very  large 
sum  of  money  which  he  squandered  at  play,  and  of 
which  the  Hebrew  had  doubtless  been  the  lender, — 
to  have  despatched  his  servant  after  him,  who 
inquired  the  hour  of  the  Jew's  departure,  lay  in  wait 
for  him,  and  rifled  him.  Suspicion  was  so  strong 
against  the  chevalier,  that  common  justice  required 
his  arrest;  and,  meanwhile,  until  he  cleared  himself, 
he  should  be  kept  in  not  dishonorable  durance,  and 
every  regard  had  for  his  name,  and  the  services  of 
his  honorable  grandfather.  With  this  assurance, 
and  with  a  warm  grasp  of  the  hand,  the  prince  left 
old  General  de  Magny  that  night;  and  the  veteran 
retired  to  rest,  almost  consoled  and  confident  in 
Maxime's  eventual  and  immediate  release. 

"But  in  the  morning,  before  daybreak,  the  prince, 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY 


103 


who  had  been  reading  papers  all  night,  wildly  called 
to  the  page,  who  slept  in  the  next  room  across  the 
door,  bade  him  get  horses,  which  were  always  kept 
in  readiness  in  the  stables,  and,  flinging  a  parcel  of 
letters  into  a  box,  told  the  page  to  follow  him  on 
horseback  with  these.  The  young  man  (Monsieur 
de  Weissenborn)  told  this  to  a  young  lady  who  was 
then  of  my  household,  and  who  is  now  Madame  de 
Weissenborn,  and  a  mother  of  a  score  of  children. 

"The  page  described  that  never  was  such  a 
change  seen  as  in  his  august  master  in  the  course  of 
that  single  night.  His  eyes  were  bloodshot,  his  face 
livid,  his  clothes  were  hanging  loose  about  him,  and 
he  who  had  always  made  his  appearance  on  parade 
as  precisely  dressed  as  any  sergeant  of  his  troops, 
might  have  been  seen  galloping  through  the  lonely 
streets  at  early  dawn  without  a  hat,  his  unpowdered 
hair  streaming  behind  him  like  a  madman. 

"The  page,  with  the  box  of  papers,  clattered  aftei 
his  master, —  it  was  no  easy  task  to  follow  him;  and 
they  rode  from  the  palace  to  the  town,  and  through 
it  to  the  general's  quarter.  The  sentinels  at  the 
door  were  scared  by  the  strange  figure  that  rushed 
up  to  the  general's  gate,  and,  not  knowing  him, 
crossed  bayonets,  and  refused  him  admission. 
'Fools/  said  Weissenborn,  'it  is  the  prince!'  And, 
jangling  at  the  bell,  as  if  for  an  alarm  of  fire,  the 
door  was  at  length  opened  by  the  porter,  and  his 


104  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

highness   ran    up    to    the    general's    bedchamber, 
followed  by  the  page  with  the  box. 

'"Magny  —  Magny,'  roared  the  prince,  thunder- 
ing at  the  closed  door,  'get  up!'  And  to  the  queries 
of  the  old  man  from  within,  answered,  'It  is  I  — 
Victor  —  the  prince! —  get  up!'  And  presently  the 
door  was  opened  by  the  general  in  his  robe-de- 
chambre,  and  the  prince  entered.  The  page  brought 
in  the  box,  and  was  bidden  to  wait  without,  which 
he  did;  but  there  led  from  Monsieur  de  Magny 's 
bedroom  into  his  ante-chamber  two  doors,  the  great 
one  which  formed  the  entrance  into  his  room,  and  a 
smaller  one  which  led,  as  the  fashion  is  with  our 
houses  abroad,  into  the  closet  which  communicates 
with  the  alcove  where  the  bed  is.  The  door  of  this 
was  found  by  M.  de  Weissenborn  to  be  open,  and 
the  young  man  was  thus  enabled  to  hear  and  see 
everything  which  occurred  within  the  apartment. 

"The  general,  somewhat  nervously,  asked  what 
was  the  reason  of  so  early  a  visit  from  his  highness; 
to  which  the  prince  did  not  for  a  while  reply,  farther 
than  by  staring  at  him  rather  wildly,  and  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"At  last  he  said,  'Here  is  the  cause!'  dashing  his 
fist  on  the  box;  and,  as  he  had  forgotten  to  bring 
the  key  with  him,  he  went  to  the  door  for  a  moment, 
saying,  'Weissenborn  perhaps  has  it;'  but,  seeing 
over  the  stove  one  of  the  general's  couteaux-de- 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY  105 

chasse,  he  took  it  down,  and  said,  'That  will  do/ 
and  fell  to  work  to  burst  the  red  trunk  open  with 
the  blade  of  the  forest-knife.  The  point  broke,  and 
he  gave  an  oath,  but  continued  haggling  on  with  the 
broken  blade,  which  was  better  suited  to  his  purpose 
than  the  long,  pointed  knife,  and  finally  succeeded 
in  wrenching  open  the  lid  of  the  chest. 

" '  What  is  the  matter?'  said  he,  laughing.  '  Here's 
the  matter: —  read  that! —  here's  more  matter,  read 
that! — here's  more  —  no,  not  that;  that's  some- 
body else's  picture  —  but  here's  hers !  Do  you  know 
that,  Magny?  My  wife's  —  the  princess's!  Why 
did  you  and  your  cursed  race  ever  come  out  of 
France,  to  plant  your  infernal  wickedness  wherever 
your  feet  fell,  and  to  ruin  honest  German  homes? 
What  have  you  and  yours  ever  had  from  my  family 
but  confidence  and  kindness?  We  gave  you  a  home 
when  you  had  none,  and  here's  our  reward!'  and  he 
flung  a  parcel  of  papers  down  before  the  old  general; 
who  saw  the  truth  at  once : —  he  had  known  it  long 
before,  probably,  and  sunk  down  on  his  chair,  cover- 
ing his  face. 

"The  prince  went  on  gesticulating,  and  shrieking 
almost.  'If  a  man  injured  you  so,  Magny,  before 
you  begot  the  father  of  that  gambling,  lying  villain 
yonder,  you  would  have  known  how  to  revenge 
yourself.  You  would  have  killed  him!  Yes,  would 
have  killed  him.  But  who's  to  help  me  to  my 


106  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

revenge?  I've  no  equal.  I  can't  meet  that  dog  of  a 
Frenchman, —  that  pimp  from  Versailles, —  and 
kill  him,  as  if  he  had  played  the  traitor  to  one  of  his 
own  degree/ 

"'The  blood  of  Maxime  de  Magny,'  said  the  old 
gentleman,  proudly,  'is  as  good  as  that  of  any  prince 
in  Christendom.' 

"'Can  I  take  it?'  cried  the  prince:  'you  know  I 
can't.  I  can't  have  the  privilege  of  any  other 
gentleman  of  Europe.  What  am  I  to  do?  Look 
here,  Magny:  I  was  wild  when  I  came  here:  I 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  You've  served  me  for 
thirty  years;  you've  saved  my  life  twice:  they  are 
all  knaves  and  harlots  about  my  poor  old  father 
here  —  no  honest  men  or  women  —  you  are  the  only 
one  —  you  saved  my  life :  tell  me  what  am  I  to 
do?'  Thus,  from  insulting  Monsieur  de  Magny, 
the  poor  distracted  prince  fell  to  supplicating  him; 
and,  at  last,  fairly  flung  himself  down,  and  burst 
out  in  an  agony  of  tears. 

"Old  Magny,  one  of  the  most  rigid  and  cold  of 
men  on  common  occasions,  when  he  saw  this  out- 
break of  passion  on  the  prince's  part,  became,  as 
my  informant  has  described  to  me,  as  much  affected 
as  his  master.  The  old  man,  from  being  cold  and 
high,  suddenly  fell,  as  it  were,  into  a  whimpering 
querulousness  of  extreme  old  age.  He  lost  all  sense 
of  dignity:  he  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  broke 


THE   PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  107 

out  into  all  sorts  of  wild,  incoherent  attempts  at  con- 
solation; so  much  so,  that  Weissenborn  said  he 
could  not  bear  to  look  at  the  scene,  and  actually 
turned  away  from  the  contemplation  of  it. 

"  But,  from  what  followed  in  a  few  days,  we  may 
guess  the  results  of  the  long  interview.  The  prince, 
when  he  came  away  from  the  conversation  with  his 
old  servant,  forgot  his  fatal  box  of  papers  and  sent 
the  page  back  for  them.  The  general  was  on  his 
knees  praying  in  the  room  when  the  young  man 
entered,  and  only  stirred  and  looked  round  wildly 
as  the  other  removed  the  packet.  The  prince  rode 
away  to  his  hunting-lodge  at  three  leagues  from 

X ,  and  three  days  after  that  Maxime  de  Magny 

died  in  prison;  having  made  a  confession  that  he 
was  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  rob  the  Jew,  and  that 
he  had  made  away  with  himself,  ashamed  of  his 
dishonor. 

"But  it  is  not  known  that  it  was  the  general  him- 
self who  took  his  grandson  poison :  it  was  said  even 
that  he  shot  him  in  the  prison.  This,  however,  was 
not  the  case.  General  de  Magny  carried  his  grand- 
son the  draught  which  was  to  carry  him  out  of  the 
world;  represented  to  the  wretched  youth  that  his" 
fate  was  inevitable;  that  it  would  be  public  and 
disgraceful  unless  he  chose  to  anticipate  the  punish- 
ment, and  so  left  him.  But  it  was  not  of  his  own 
accord,  and  not  until  he  had  used  every  means  of 


108  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

escape,  as  you  shall  hear,  that  the  unfortunate 
being's  life  was  brought  to  an  end. 

"As  for  General  de  Magny,  he  quite  fell  into  im- 
becility a  short  time  after  his  grandson's  death,  and 
my  honored  duke's  demise.  After  his  highness  the 

prince  married  the  Princess  Mary   of   F ,  as 

they  were  walking  in  the  English  park  together 
they  once  met  old  Magny  riding  in  the  sun  on  the 
easy  chair,  in  which  he  was  carried  commonly  abroad 
after  his  paralytic  fits.  'This  is  my  wife,  Magny/ 
said  the  prince,  affectionately,  taking  the  veteran's 
hand;  and  he  added,  turning  to  this  princess, 
*  General  de  Magny  saved  my  life  during  the  Seven 
Years'  War.' 

"'What,  you've  taken  her  back  again?'  said  the 
old  man.  'I  wish  you'd  send  me  back  my  poor 
Maxime.'  He  had  quite  forgotten  the  death  of  the 
poor  Princess  Olivia,  and  the  prince,  looking  very 
dark  indeed,  passed  away. 

"And  now,"  said  Madame  de  Liliengarten,  "I 
have  only  one  more  gloomy  story  to  relate  to  you  — 
the  death  of  the  Princess  Olivia.  It  is  even  more 
horrible  than  the  tale  I  have  just  told  you."  With 
which  preface  the  old  lady  resumed  her  narrative. 

"The  kind,  weak  princess's  fate  was  hastened,  if 
not  occasioned,  by  the  cowardice  of  Magny.  He 
found  means  to  communicate  with  her  from  his 
prison,  and  her  highness,  who  was  not  in  open  dis- 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY  109 

grace  yet  (for  the  duke,  out  of  regard  to  the  family, 
persisted  in  charging  Magny  with  only  robbery), 
made  the  most  desperate  efforts  to  relieve  him,  and 
to  bribe  the  jailers  to  effect  his  escape.  She  was  so 
wild  that  she  lost  all  patience  and  prudence  in  the 
conduct  of  any  schemes  she  may  have  had  for 
Magny's  liberation ;  for  her  husband  was  inexorable, 
and  caused  the  chevalier's  prison  to  be  too  strictly 
guarded  for  escape  to  be  possible.  She  offered  the 
state  jewels  in  pawn  to  the  court  banker;  who  of 
course  was  obliged  to  decline  the  transaction.  She 
fell  down  on  her  knees,  it  is  said,  to  Geldern,  the 
Police  Minister,  and  offered  him  heaven  knows  what 
as  a  bribe.  Finally,  she  came  screaming  to  my  poor 
dear  duke,  who,  with  his  age,  diseases,  and  easy 
habits,  was  quite  unfit  for  scenes  of  so  violent  a 
nature;  and  who,  in  consequence  of  the  excitement 
created  in  his  august  bosom  by  her  frantic  violence 
and  grief,  had  a  fit  in  which  I  very  nigh  lost  him. 
That  his  dear  life  was  brought  to  an  untimely  end 
by  these  transactions  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt; 
for  the  Strasbourg  pie,  of  which  they  said  he  died, 
never,  I  am  sure,  could  have  injured  him,  but  for 
the  injury  which  his  dear  gentle  heart  received  from 
the  unusual  occurrences  in  which  he  was  forced  to 
take  a  share. 

"All  her  highness's  movements  were  carefully, 
though  not  ostensibly,  watched  by  her  husband, 


HO  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

Prince  Victor;  who,  waiting  upon  his  august  father, 
sternly  signified  to  him  that  if  his  highness  (my  duke) 
should  dare  to  aid  the  princess  in  her  efforts  to 
release  Magny,  he,  Prince  Victor,  would  publicly 
accuse  the  princess  and  her  paramour  of  high 
treason,  and  take  measures  with  the  Diet  for  re- 
moving his  father  from  the  throne,  as  incapacitated 
to  reign.  Hence,  interposition  on  our  part  was  vain, 
and  Magny  was  left  to  his  fate. 

"It  came,  as  you  are  aware,  very  suddenly. 
Geldern,  Police  Minister,  Hengst,  Master  of  the 
Horse,  and  the  colonel  of  the  prince's  guard,  waited 
upon  the  young  man  in  his  prison  two  days  after 
his  grandfather  had  visited  him  there  and  left 
behind  him  the  phial  of  poison  which  the  criminal 
had  not  the  courage  to  use.  And  Geldern  signified 
to  the  young  man  that  unless  he  took  of  his  own 
accord  the  laurel-water  provided  by  the  elder 
Magny,  more  violent  means  of  death  would  be 
instantly  employed  upon  him,  and  that  a  file  of 
grenadiers  was  in  waiting  in  the  courtyard  to 
despatch  him.  Seeing  this,  Magny,  with  the  most 
dreadful  self-abasement,  after  dragging  himself 
round  the  room  on  his  knees,  from  one  officer  to 
another,  weeping  and  screaming  with  terror,  at  last 
desperately  drank  off  the  potion,  and  was  a  corpse 
in  a  few  minutes.  Thus  ended  this  wretched  young 
man. 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY  m 

"His  death  was  made  public  in  the  Court  Gazette 
two  days  after,  the  paragraph  stating  that  Monsieur 
de  M ,  struck  with  remorse  for  having  at- 
tempted the  murder  of  the  Jew,  had  put  himself  to 
death  by  poison  in  prison;  and  a  warning  was 
added  to  all  young  noblemen  of  the  duchy  to  avoid 
the  dreadful  sin  of  gambling,  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  the  young  man's  ruin,  and  had  brought 
upon  the  gray  hairs  of  one  of  the  noblest  and  most 
honorable  of  the  servants  of  the  'duke  irretrievable 
sorrow. 

"The  funeral  was  conducted  with  decent  privacy, 
the  General  de  Magny  attending  it.  The  carriage  of 
the  two  dukes  and  all  the  first  people  of  the  court 
made  their  calls  upon  the  general  afterwards.  He 
attended  parade  as  usual  the  next  day  on  the 
Arsenal  Place,  and  Duke  Victor,  who  had  been  in- 
specting the  building,  came  out  of  it  leaning  on  the 
brave  old  warrior's  arm.  He  was  particularly 
gracious  to  the  old  man,  and  told  his  officers  the  oft- 
repeated  story  how  at  Rosbach,  when  the  X — 
contingent  served  with  the  troops  of  the  unlucky 
Soubise,  the  general  had  thrown  himself  in  the  way 
of  a  French  dragoon  who  was  pressing  hard  upon 
his  highness  in  the  rout,  had  received  the  blow 
intended  for  his  master,  and  killed  the  assailant. 
And  he  alluded  to  the  family  motto  of  '  Magny  sans 
tache,'  and  said,  'It  had  always  been  so  with  his 


1 12  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

gallant  friend  and  tutor  in  arms.'  This  speech 
affected  all  present  very  much,  with  the  exception  of 
the  old  general,  who  only  bowed  and  did  not  speak; 
but  when  he  went  home  he  was  heard  muttering, 
'Magny  sans  tache,  Magny  sans  tache!'  and  was 
attacked  with  paralysis  that  night,  from  which  he 
never  more  than  partially  recovered. 

"The  news  of  Maxime's  death  had  somehow  been 
kept  from  the  princess  until  now:  a  Gazette  even 
being  printed  without  the  paragraph  containing  the 
account  of  his  suicide;  but  it  was  at  length,  I  know 
not  how,  made  known  to  her.  And  when  she  heard 
it,  her  ladies  tell  me,  she  screamed  and  fell,  as  if 
struck  dead;  then  sat  up  wildly  and  raved  like  a 
madwoman,  and  was  then  carried  to  her  bed,  where 
her  physician  attended  her,  and  where  she  lay  of  a 
brain-fever.  All  this  while  the  prince  used  to  send 
to  make  inquiries  concerning  her;  and  from  his 
giving  orders  that  his  castle  of  Schlangenfels  should 
be  prepared  and  furnished,  I  make  no  doubt  it  was 
his  intention  to  send  her  into  confinement  thither; 
as  had  been  done  with  the  unhappy  sister  of  his 
Britannic  Majesty  at  Zell. 

"She  sent  repeatedly  to  demand  an  interview 
with  his  highness,  which  the  latter  declined,  saying 
that  he  would  communicate  with  her  highness  when 
her  health  was  sufficiently  recovered.  To  one  of 
her  passionate  letters  he  sent  back  for  reply  a  packet, 


THE   PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  113 

which,  when  opened,  was  found  to  contain  the 
emerald  that  had  been  the  cause  round  which  all 
this  dark  intrigue  moved. 

"Her  highness  at  this  time  became  quite  frantic; 
vowed  in  the  presence  of  all  her  ladies  that  one  lock 
of  her  darling  Maxime's  hair  was  more  precious  to 
her  than  all  the  jewels  in  the  world;  rang  for  her 
carriage,  and  said  she  would  go  and  kiss  his  tomb; 
proclaimed  the  murdered  martyr's  innocence,  and 
called  down  the  punishment  of  heaven,  the  wrath  ofi 
her  family,  upon  his  assassin.  The  prince,  on  hear- 
ing these  speeches  (they  were  all,  of  course,  regu- 
larly brought  to  him),  is  said  to  have  given  one  of 
his  dreadful  looks  (which  I  remember  now),  and  to 
have  said,  'This  cannot  last  much  longer.' 

"All  that  day  and  the  next  the  Princess  Olivia 
passed  in  dictating  the  most  passionate  letters  to 
the  prince  her  father,  to  the  Kings  of  France,  Naples, 
and  Spain,  her  kinsmen,  and  to  all  other  branches  of 
her  family,  calling  upon  them  in  the  most  incoherent 
terms  to  protect  her  against  the  butcher  and  assassin 
her  husband,  assailing  his  person  in  the  maddest 
terms  of  reproach,  and  at  the  same  time  confessing 
her  love  for  the  murdered  Magny.  It  was  in  vain 
that  those  ladies  who  were  faithful  to  her  pointed 
out  to  her  the  inutility  of  these  letters,  the  dangerous 
folly  of  the  confessions  which  they  made;  she 
insisted  upon  writing  them,  and  used  to  give  them  to 


II4  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

her  second  robe- woman,  a  Frenchwoman  (her  high- 
ness always  affectioned  persons  of  that  nation),  who 
had  the  key  of  her  cassette,  and  carried  every  one  of 
these  epistles  to  Geldern. 

"With  the  exception  that  no  public  receptions 
were  held,  the  ceremony  of  the  princess's  estab- 
lishment went  on  as  before.  Her  ladies  were  allowed 
to  wait  upon  her  and  perform  their  usual  duties 
about  her  person.  The  only  men  admitted  were, 
however,  her  servants,  her  physician  and  chaplain; 
and  one  day  when  she  wished  to  go  into  the  garden 
a  heyduc,  who  kept  the  door,  intimated  to  her  high- 
ness that  the  prince's  orders  were  that  she  should 
keep  her  apartments. 

"They  abut,  as  you  remember,  upon  the  landing 

of  the  marble  staircase  of  Schloss  X ;  the 

entrance  to  Prince  Victor's  suite  of  rooms  being 
opposite  the  princess's  on  the  same  landing.  This 
space  is  large,  filled  with  sofas  and  benches,  and  the 
gentlemen  and  officers  who  waited  upon  the  duke 
used  to  make  a  sort  of  ante-chamber  of  the  landing 
place,  and  pay  their  court  to  his  highness  there, 
as  he  passed  out  at  eleven  o'clock  to  parade.  At 
such  a  time,  the  heyducs  within  the  princess's  suite 
of  rooms  used  to  turn  out  with  their  halberts  and 
present  to  Prince  Victor  —  the  same  ceremony 
being  performed  on  his  own  side,  when  pages  came 
out  and  announced  the  approach  of  his  highness. 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY  II5 

The  pages  used  to  come  out  and  say,  'The  prince, 
gentlemen!'  and  the  drums  beat  in  the  hall,  and  the 
gentlemen  rose,  who  were  waiting  on  the  benches 
that  ran  along  the  balustrade. 

"As  if  fate  impelled  her  to  her  death,  one  day  the 
princess,  as  her  guards  turned  out,  and  she  was 
aware  that  the  prince  was  standing  as  was  his  wont, 
on  the  landing,  conversing  with  his  gentlemen  (in 
the  old  days  he  used  to  cross  to  the  princess's  apart- 
ment and  kiss  her  hand) —  the  princess,  who  had 
been  anxious  all  the  morning,  complaining  of  heat, 
insisting  that  all  the  doors  of  the  apartments  should 
be  left  open ;  and  giving  tokens  of  an  insanity  which 
I  think  was  now  evident,  rushed  wildly  at  the  doors 
when  the  guards  passed  out,  flung  them  open,  and 
before  a  word  could  be  said,  or  her  ladies  could 
follow  her,  was  in  presence  of  Duke  Victor,  who  was 
talking  as  usual  on  the  landing:  placing  herself 
between  him  and  the  stair,  she  began  apostrophizing 
him  with  frantic  vehemence: — 

"  'Take  notice,  gentlemen!'  she  screamed  out, 
'  that  this  man  is  a  murderer  and  a  liar;  that  he  lays 
plots  for  honorable  gentlemen,  and  kills  them  in 
prison!  Take  notice,  that  I  too  am  in  prison,  and 
fear  the  same  fate:  the  same  butcher  who  killed 
Maxime  de  Magny,  may,  any  night,  put  the  knife  to 
my  throat.  I  appeal  to  you,  and  to  all  the  kings  of 
Europe,  my  royal  kinsmen.  I  demand  to  be  set 


Il6  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

free  from  this  tyrant  and  villain,  this  liar  and  traitor! 
I  adjure  you  all,  as  gentlemen  of  honor,  to  carry 
these  letters  to  my  relatives,  and  say  from  whom 
you  had  them!'  and  with  this  the  unhappy  lady 
began  scattering  letters  about  among  the  astonished 
crowd. 

"  lLet  no  man  stoop!"1  cried  the  prince,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder.  '  Madame  de  Gleim,  you  should  have 
watched  your  patient  better.  Call  the  princess's 
physicians:  her  highness's  brain  is  affected. 
Gentlemen,  have  the  goodness  to  retire.'  And  the 
prince  stood  on  the  landing  as  the  gentlemen  went 
down  the  stairs,  saying  fiercely  to  the  guard, 
1  Soldier,  if  she  moves,  strike  with  your  halbert!' 
en  which  the  man  brought  the  point  of  his  weapon 
to  the  princess's  breast;  and  the  lady,  frightened, 
shrank  back  and  re-entered  her  apartments.  'Now, 
Monsieur  de  Weissenborn,'  said  the  prince,  'pick 
up  all  those  papers:'  and  the  prince  went  into  his 
own  apartments,  preceded  by  his  pages,  and  never 
quitted  them  until  he  had  seen  every  one  of  the 
papers  burnt. 

"The  next  day  the  Court  Gazette  contained  a 
bulletin  signed  by  the  three  physicians,  stating  that 
'her  highness  the  Hereditary  Princess  labored  under 
inflammation  of  the  brain,  and  had  passed  a  restless 
and  disturbed  night.'  Similar  notices  were  issued 
day  after  day.  The  services  of  all  her  ladies,  except 


THE    PRINCESS'S   TRAGEDY  117 

two,  were  dispensed  with  Guards  were  placed 
within  and  without  her  doors;  her  windows  were 
secured,  so  that  escape  from  them  was  impossible: 
and  you  know  what  took  place  ten  days  after.  The 
church-bells  were  ringing  all  night,  and  the  prayers 
of  the  faithful  asked  for  a  person  in  extremis.  A 
Gazette  appeared  in  the  morning,  edged  with  black, 
and  stating  that  the  high  and  mighty  Princess 
Olivia  Maria  Ferdinanda,  consort  of  his  Serene 
Highness  Victor  Louis  Emanuel,  Hereditary  Prince 

of  X ,  had  died  in  the  evening  of  the  24th  of 

January,  1769. 

"But  do  you  know  how  she  died,  sir?  That,  too, 
is  a  mystery,  Wcissenborn,  the  page,  was  concerned 
in  this  dark  tragedy;  and  the  secret  was  so  dreadful, 
that  never,  believe  me,  till  Prince  Victor's  death  did 
I  reveal  it. 

"After  the  fatal  esclandre  which  the  princess  had 
made,  the  prince  sent  for  Weissenborn,  and  binding 
him  by  the  most  solemn  adjuration  to  secrecy,  (he 
only  broke  it  to  his  wife  many  years  after:  indeed, 
there  is  no  secret  in  the  world  that  women  cannot 
know  if  they  will),  despatched  him  on  the  following 
mysterious  commission. 

"  'There  lives,'  said  his  highness,  'on  the  Kehl 
side  of  the  river,  opposite  to  Strasbourg,  a  man 
whose  residence  you  will  easily  find  out  from  his 
name,  which  is  Monsieur  de  Strasbourg.  You  will 


Il8  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

make  your  inquiries  concerning  him  quietly,  and 
without  occasioning  any  remark;  perhaps  you  had 
better  go  into  Strasbourg  for  the  purpose,  where  the 
person  is  quite  well-known.  You  will  take  with  you 
any  comrade  on  whom  you  can  perfectly  rely:  the 
lives  of  both,  remember,  depend  on  your  secrecy. 
You  will  find  out  some  period  when  Monsieur  de 
Strasbourg  is  alone,  or  only  in  company  of  the 
domestic  who  lives  with  him:  (I  myself  visited 
the  man  by  accident  on  my  return  from  Paris  five 
years  since,  and  hence  am  induced  to  send  for  him 
now,  in  my  present  emergency).  You  will  have  your 
carriage  waiting  at  his  door  at  night;  and  you  and 
your  comrade  will  enter  his  house  masked;  and 
present  him  with  a  purse  of  a  hundred  louis;  prom- 
ising him  double  that  sum  on  his  return  from  his 
expedition.  If  he  refuse,  you  must  use  force  and 
bring  him;  menacing  him  with  instant  death  should 
he  decline  to  follow  you.  You  will  place  him  in  the 
carriage  with  the  blinds  drawn,  one  or  other  of  you 
never  losing  sight  of  him  the  whole  way,  and  threat- 
ening him  with  death  if  he  discover  himself  or  cry 
out.  You  will  lodge  him  in  the  Old  Tower  here, 
where  a  room  shall  be  prepared  for  him;  and  his 
work  being  done,  you  will  restore  him  to  his  home 
in  the  same  speed  and  secrecy  with  which  you 
brought  him  from  it.' 

"Such  were  the  mysterious  orders  Prince  Victor 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY 


119 


gave  his  page;  and  Weissenborn,  selecting  for  his 
comrade  in  the  expedition  Lieutenant  Bartenstein, 
set  out  on  his  strange  journey. 

"All  this  while  the  palace  was  hushed,  as  if  in 
mourning;  the  bulletins  in  the  Court  Gazette  ap- 
peared, announcing  the  continuance  of  the  princess's 
malady;  and  though  she  had  but  few  attendants, 
strange  and  circumstantial  stories  were  told  regard- 
ing the  progress  of  her  complaint.  She  was  quite 
wild.  She  had  tried  to  kill  herself.  She  had  fancied 
herself  to  be  I  don't  know  how  many  different 
characters.  Expresses  were  sent  to  her  family 
informing  them  of  her  state,  and  couriers  despatched 
publicly  to  Vienna  and  Paris  to  procure  the  attend- 
ance of  physicians  skilled  in  treating  diseases  of  the 
brain.  That  pretended  anxiety  was  all  a  feint:  it 
was  never  intended  that  the  princess  should  recover. 

"The  day  on  which  Weissenborn  and  Bartenstein 
returned  from  their  expedition,  it  was  announced 
that  her  highness  the  princess  was  much  worse; 
that  night  the  report  through  the  town  was  that  she 
was  at  the  agony:  and  that  night  the  unfortunate 
creature  was  endeavoring  to  make  her  escape. 

"She  had  unlimited  confidence  in  the  French 
chamber-woman  who  attended  her,  and  between 
her  and  this  woman  the  plan  of  escape  was  arranged. 
The  princess  took  her  jewels  in  a  casket;  a  private 
door,  opening  from  one  of  her  rooms  and  leading 


120  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

into  the  outer  gate  it  was  said,  of  the  palace,  was 
discovered  for  her;  and  a  letter  was  brought  to  her, 
purporting  to  be  from  the  duke  her  father-in-law, 
and  stating  that  a  carriage  and  horses  had  been 
provided,  and  would  take  her  to  B :  the  ter- 
ritory where  she  might  communicate  with  her 
family  and  be  safe. 

"The  unhappy  lady,  confiding  in  her  guardian, 
set  out  on  the  expedition.  The  passages  wound 
through  the  walls  of  the  modern  part  of  the  palace 
and  abutted  in  effect  at  the  old  Owl  Tower,  as  it 
was  called,  on  the  outer  wall:  the  tower  was  pulled 
down  afterwards,  and  for  good  reason. 

"At  a  certain  place  the  candle,  which  the  cham- 
ber-woman was  carrying,  went  out;  and  the  princess 
would  have  screamed  with  terror,  but  her  hand  was 
seized,  and  a  voice  cried,  '  Hush ! '  The  next  minute 
a  man  in  a  mask  (it  was  the  duke  himself)  rushed 
forward,  gagged  her  with  a  handkerchief,  her  hands 
and  legs  were  bound,  and  she  was  carried  swooning 
with  terror  into  a  vaulted  room,  where  she  was 
placed  by  a  person  there  waiting,  and  tied  in  an  arm- 
chair. The  same  mask  who  had  gagged  her,  came 
and  bared  her  neck  and  said,  'It  had  best  be  done 
now  she  has  fainted.' 

"Perhaps  it  would  have  been  as  well;  for  though 
she  recovered  from  her  swoon,  and  her  confessor, 
vvho  was  present,  came  forward  and  endeavored  to 


THE    PRINCESS'S    TRAGEDY  I2i 

prepare  her  for  the  awful  deed  which  was  about  to 
be  done  upon  her,  and  for  the  state  into  which  she 
was  about  to  enter,  when  she  came  to  herself  it  was 
only  to  scream  like  a  maniac,  to  curse  the  duke  as  a 
butcher  and  tyrant,  and  to  call  upon  Magny,  her 
dear  Magny. 

"At  this  the  duke  said,  quite  calmly,  'May  God 
have  mercy  on  her  sinful  soul!'  He,  the  confessor, 
and  Geldern,  who  were  present,  went  down  on  their 
knees;  and,  as  his  highness  dropped  his  handker- 
chief, Weissenborn  fell  down  in  a  fainting  fit;  while 
Monsieur  de  Strasbourg,  taking  the  back  hair  in  his 
hand,  separated  the  shrieking  head  of  Olivia  from 
the  miserable,  sinful  body.  May  heaven  have 
mercy  upon  her  soul!" 


This  was  the  story  told  by  Madame  de  Lilien- 
garten,  and  the  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in 
drawing  from  it  that  part  which  affected  myself  and 
my  uncle;  who,  after  six  weeks  of  arrest,  were  set 
at  liberty,  but  with  orders  to  quit  the  duchy  imme- 
diately: indeed,  with  an  escort  of  dragoons  to  con- 
duct us  to  the  frontier.  What  property  we  had  we 
were  allowed  to  sell  and  realize  in  money;  but  none 
of  our  play  debts  were  paid  to  us:  and  all  my  hopes 
of  the  Countess  Ida  were  thus  at  an  end. 


122  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

When  Duke  Victor  came  to  the  throne,  which  he 
did  when,  six  months  after,  apoplexy  carried  off 
the  old  sovereign  his  father,  all  the  good  old  usages 

of  X were  given  up, —  play  forbidden;  the 

opera  and  ballet  sent  to  the  right-about;  and  the 
regiments  which  the  old  duke  had  sold  recalled 
from  their  foreign  service:  with  them  came  my 
countess's  beggarly  cousin  the  ensign,  and  he 
married  her.  I  don't  know  whether  they  were  happy 
or  not.  It  is  certain  that  a  woman  of  such  a  poor 
spirit  did  not  merit  any  very  high  degree  of  pleasure. 

The  now  reigning  Duke  of  X himself 

married  four  years  after  his  first  wife's  demise,  and 
Geldern,  though  no  longer  Police  Minister,  built 
the  grand  house  of  which  Madame  de  Liliengarten 
spoke.  What  became  of  the  minor  actors  in  the 
great  tragedy,  who  knows?  Only  Monsieur  de 
Strasbourg  was  restored  to  his  duties.  Of  the  rest, 
—  the  Jew,  the  chamber-woman,  the  spy  on  Magny, 
I  know  nothing.  Those  sharp  tools  with  which 
great  people  cut  out  their  enterprises,  are  generally 
broken  in  the  using:  nor  did  I  ever  hear  that  their 
employers  had  much  regard  for  them  in  their  ruin. 


THE  OLD  NURSE'S  STORY 
Bv  MRS.  GASKELL 


THE  OLD  NURSE'S  STORY 

You  know,  my  dears,  that  your  mother  was  an 
orphan,  and  an  only  child;  and  I  dare  say  you  have 
heard  that  your  grandfather  was  a  clergyman  up  in 
Westmoreland,  where  I  come  from.  I  was  just  a 
girl  in  the  village  school,  when,  one  day,  your 
grandmother  came  in  to  ask  the  mistress  if  there 
was  any  scholar  there  who  would  do  for  a  nurse- 
maid; and  mighty  proud  I  was,  I  can  tell  ye,  when 
the  mistress  called  me  up,  and  spoke  to  my  being 
a  good  'girl  at  my  needle,  and  a  steady,  honest  girl, 
and  one  whose  parents  were  <  very  respectable, 
though  they  might  be  poor.  I  thought  I  should 
like  nothing  better  than  to  serve  the  pretty  young 
lady,  who  was  blushing  as  deep  as  I  was,  as  she 
spoke  of  the  coming  baby,  and  what  I  should  have 
to  do  with  it.  However,  I  see  you  don't  care  so 
much  for  this  part  of  my  story,  as  for  what  you 
think  is  to  come,  so  I'll  tell  you  at  once.  I  was 
engaged  and  settled  at  the  parsonage  before  Miss 
Rosamond  (that  was  the  baby,  who  is  now  your 
mother)  was  born.  To  be  sure,  I  had  little  enough 
to  do  with  her  when  she  came,  for  she  was  never  out 
of  her  mother's  arms,  and  slept  by  her  all  night 
long;  and  proud  enough  was  I  sometimes  when 
125 


126  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

missis  trusted  her  to  me.  There  never  was  such  a 
baby  before  or  since,  though  you've  all  of  you  been 
fine  enough  in  your  turns;  but  for  sweet,  winning 
ways,  you've  none  of  you  come  up  to  your  mother. 
She  took  after  her  mother,  who  was  a  real  lady  born; 
a  Miss  Furnivall,  a  grand-daughter  of  Lord  Furni- 
valPs,  in  Northumberland.  I  believe  she  had 
neither  brother  nor  sister,  and  had  been  brought  up 
in  my  lord's  family  till  she  had  married  your  grand- 
father, who  was  just  a  curate,  son  to  a  shopkeeper  in 
Carlisle  —  but  a  clever,  fine  gentleman  as  ever  was 

—  and  one  who  was  a  right-down  hard  worker  in  his 
parish,   which   was   very  wide,   and   scattered  all 
abroad  over  the  Westmoreland  Fells.    When  your 
mother,  little  Miss  Rosamond,  was  about  four  or 
five  years  old,  both  her  parents  died  in  a  fortnight 

—  one  after  the  other.    Ah!    that  was  a  sad  time. 
My  pretty  young  mistress  and  me  was  looking  for 
another  baby,  when  my  master  came  home  from  one 
of  his  long  rides,  wet  and  tired,  and  took  the  fever 
he  died  of;   and  then  she  never  held  up  her  head 
again,  but  just  lived  to  see  her  dead  baby,  and 
have  it  laid  on  her  breast,  before  she  sighed  away  her 
life.    My  mistress  had  asked  me,  on  her  death-bed, 
never  to  leave  Miss  Rosamond;    but  if  she  had 
never  spoken  a  word,  I  would  have  gone  with  the 
little  child  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

The  next  thing,  and  before  we  had  well  stilled 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  127 

our  sobs,  the  executors  and  guardians  came  to 
settle  the  affairs.  They  were  my  poor  young 
mistress's  own  cousin,  Lord  Furnivall,  and  Mr. 
Esthwaite,  my  master's  brother,  a  shopkeeper  in 
Manchester;  not  so  well-to-do  then  as  he  was 
afterwards,  and  with  a  large  family  rising  about 
him.  Well!  I  don't  know  if  it  were  their  settling, 
or  because  of  a  letter  my  mistress  wrote  on  her 
death-bed  to  her  cousin,  my  lord;  but  somehow 
it  was  settled  that  Miss  Rosamond  and  me  were  to 
go  to  Furnivall  Manor  House,  in  Northumberland, 
and  my  lord  spoke  as  if  it  had  been  her  mother's 
wish  that  she  should  live  with  his  family,  and  as  if  he 
had  no  objections,  for  that  one  or  two  more  or  less 
could  make  no  difference  in  so  grand  a  household. 
So,  though  that  was  not  the  way  in  which  I  should 
have  wished  the  coming  of  my  bright  and  pretty  pet 
to  have  been  looked  at  —  who  was  like  a  sunbeam 
in  any  family,  be  it  never  so  grand  —  I  was  well 
pleased  that  all  the  folks  in  the  Dale  should  stare 
and  admire,  when  they  heard  I  was  going  to  be 
young  lady's  maid  at  my  Lord  FurnivalPs  at 
Furnivall  Manor. 

But  I  made  a  mistake  in  thinking  we  were  to  go 
and  live  where  my  lord  did.  It  turned  out  that  the 
family  had  left  Furnivall  Manor  House  fifty  years 
or  more.  I  could  not  hear  that  my  poor  young  mis- 
tress had  ever  been  there,  though  she  had  been 


128  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

brought  up  in  the  family;  and  I  was  sorry  for  that, 
for  I  should  have  liked  Miss  Rosamond's  youth  to 
have  passed  where  her  mother's  had  been. 

My  lord's  gentleman,  from  whom  I  asked  as  many 
questions  as  I  durst,  said  that  the  Manor  House 
was  at  the  foot  of  the  Cumberland  Fells,  and  a  very 
grand  place;  that  an  old  Miss  Furnivall,  a  great- 
aunt  of  my  lord's,  lived  there,  with  only  a  few 
servants;  but  that  it  was  a  very  healthy  place,  and 
my  lord  had  thought  that  it  would  suit  Miss  Rosa- 
mond very  well  for  a  few  years,  and  that  her  being 
there  might  perhaps  amuse  his  old  aunt. 

I  was  bidden  by  my  lord  to  have  Miss  Rosamond's 
things  ready  by  a  certain  day.  He  was  a  stern, 
proud  man,  as  they  say  all  the  Lords  Furnivall  were; 
and  he  never  spoke  a  word  more  than  was  necessary. 
Folk  did  say  he  had  loved  my  young  mistress;  but 
that,  because  she  knew  that  his  father  would 
object,  she  would  never  listen  to  him,  and  married 
Mr.  Esthwaite;  but  I  don't  know.  He  never  mar- 
ried, at  any  rate.  But  he  never  took  much  notice  of 
Miss  Rosamond;  which  I  thought  he  might  have 
done  if  he  had  cared  for  her  dead  mother.  He  sent 
his  gentleman  with  us  to  the  Manor  House,  telling 
him  to  join  him  at  Newcastle  that  same  evening;  so 
there  was  no  great  length  of  time  for  him  to  make 
us  known  to  all  the  strangers  before  he,  too,  shook 
us  off;  and  we  were  left,  two  lonely  young  things 


THE   OLD    NURSE'S   STORY  129 

(I  was  not  eighteen)  in  the  great  old  Manor  House. 
It  seems  like  yesterday  that  we  drove  there.  We 
had  left  our  own  dear  parsonage  very  early,  and  we 
had  both  cried  as  if  our  hearts  would  break,  though 
we  were  travelling  in  my  lord's  carriage,  which  I 
thought  so  much  of  once.  And  now  it  was  long  past 
noon  on  a  September  day,  and  we  stopped  to 
change  horses  for  the  last  time  at  a  little  smoky 
town,  all  full  of  colliers  and  miners.  Miss  Rosamond 
had  fallen  asleep,  but  Mr.  Henry  told  me  to  waken 
her,  that  she  might  see  the  park  and  the  Manor 
House  as  we  drove  up.  I  thought  it  rather  a  pity; 
but  I  did  what  he  bade  me,  for  fear  he  should 
complain  of  me  to  my  lord.  We  had  left  all  signs  of  a 
town,  or  even  a  village,  and  wrere  then  inside  the 
gates  of  a  large  wild  park  —  not  like  the  parks  here 
in  the  south,  but  with  rocks,  and  the  noise  of 
running  water,  and  gnarled  thorn-trees,  and  old 
oaks,  all  white  and  peeled  with  age. 

The  road  went  up  about  two  miles,  and  then  we 
saw  a  great  and  stately  house,  with-  many  trees 
close  around  it,  so  close  that  in  some  places  their 
branches  dragged  against  the  walls  when  the  wind 
blew;  and  some  hung  broken  down;  for  no  one 
seemed  to  take  much  charge  of  the  place; —  to  lop 
the  wood,  or  to  keep  the  moss-covered  carriage-way 
in  order.  Only  in  front  of  the  house  all  was  clear. 
The  great  oval  drive  was  without  a  weed;  and 


130  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

neither  tree  nor  creeper  was  allowed  to  grow  over 
the  long,  many- windowed  front;  at  both  sides  of 
which  a  wing  projected,  which  were  each  the  ends 
of  other  side  fronts;  for  the  house,  although  it  was 
so  desolate,  was  even  grander  than  I  expected. 
Behind  it  rose  the  Fells,  which  seemed  unenclosed 
and  bare  enough;  and  on  the  left  hand  of  the 
house,  as  you  stood  facing  it,  was  a  little,  old- 
fashioned  flower-garden,  as  I  found  out  afterwards. 
A  door  opened  out  upon  it  from  the  west  front;  it 
had  been  scooped  out  of  the  thick,  dark  wood  for 
some  old  Lady  Furnivall;  but  the  branches  of  the 
great  forest  trees  had  grown  and  overshadowed  it 
again,  and  there  were  very  few  flowers  that  would 
live  there  at  that  time. 

When  we  drove  up  to  the  great  front  entrance, 
and  went  into  the  hall,  I  thought  we  should  be  lost 
—  it  was  so  large,  and  vast,  and  grand.  There  was  a 
chandelier  all  of  bronze,  hung  down  from  the  middle 
of  the  ceiling;  and  I  had  never  seen  one  before,  and 
looked  at  it  all  in  amaze.  Then,  at  one  end  of  the 
hall,  was  a  great  fireplace,  as  large  as  the  sides  of  the 
houses  in  my  country,  with  massy  andirons  and 
dogs  to  hold  the  wood;  and  by  it  were  heavy, 
old-fashioned  sofas.  At  the  opposite  end  of  the 
hall,  to  the  left  as  you  went  in  —  on  the  western 
side  —  was  an  organ  built  into  the  wall,  and  so 
large  that  it  filled  up  the  best  part  of  that  end. 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  131 

Beyond  it,  on  the  same  side,  was  a  door;  and 
opposite,  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace,  were  also 
doors  leading  to  the  east  front;  but  those  I  never 
went  through  as  long  as  I  stayed  in  the  house,  so  I 
can't  tell  you  what  lay  beyond. 

The  afternoon  was  closing  in,  and  the  hall,  which 
had  no  fire  lighted  in  it,  looked  dark  and  gloomy, 
but  we  did  not  stay  there  a  moment.  The  old 
servant,  who  had  opened  the  door  for  us,  bowed  to 
Mr.  Henry,  and  took  us  in  through  the  door  at  the 
further  side  of  the  great  organ,  and  led  us  through 
several  smaller  halls  and  passages  into  the  west 
drawing-room,  where  he  said  that  Miss  Furnivall 
was  sitting.  Poor  little  Miss  Rosamond  held  very 
tight  to  me,  as  if  she  were  scared  and  lost  in  that 
great  place;  and  as  for  myself,  I  was  not  much 
better.  The  west  drawing-room  was  very  cheerful- 
looking,  with  a  warm  fire  in  it,  and  plenty  of  good, 
comfortable  furniture  about.  Miss  Furnivall  was 
an  old  lady  not  far  from  eighty,  I  should  think,  but  I 
do  not  know.  She  was  thin  and  tall,  and  had  a  face 
as  full  of  fine  wrinkles  as  if  they  had  been  drawn  all 
over  it  with  a  needle's  points.  Her  eyes  were  very 
watchful,  to  make  up,  I  suppose,  for  her  being  so 
deaf  as  to  be  obliged  to  use  a  trumpet.  Sitting  with 
her,  working  at  the  same  great  piece  of  tapestry, 
was  Mrs.  Stark,  her  maid  and  companion,  and 
almost  as  old  as  she  was.  She  had  lived  with  Miss 


1 32 


BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 


Furnivall  ever  since  they  both  were  young,  and 
now  she  seemed  more  like  a  friend  than  a  servant; 
she  looked  so  cold,  and  gray,  and  stony,  as  if  she  had 
never  loved  or  cared  for  any  one;  and  I  don't 
suppose  she  did  care  for  any  one,  except  her  mistress; 
and,  owing  to  the  great  deafness  of  the  latter,  Mrs. 
Stark  treated  her  very  much  as  if  she  were  a  child. 
Mr.  Henry  gave  some  message  from  my  lord,  and 
then  he  bowed  good-by  to  us  all, —  taking  no  notice 
of  my  sweet  little  Miss  Rosamond's  outstretched 
hand  —  and  left  us  standing  there,  being  looked  at 
by  the  two  old  ladies  through  their  spectacles. 

I  was  right  glad  when  they  rung  for  the  old 
footman  who  had  shown  us  in  at  first,  and  told  him 
to  take  us  to  our  rooms.  So  we  went  out  of  that 
great  drawing-room,  and  into  another  sitting-room, 
and  out  of  that,  and  then  up  a  great  flight  of  stairs, 
and  along  a  broad  gallery  —  which  was  something 
like  a  library,  having  books  all  down  one  side,  and 
windows  and  writing  tables  all  down  the  other  — 
till  we  came  to  our  rooms,  which  I  was  not  sorry  to 
hear  were  just  over  the  kitchens;  for  I  began  to 
think  I  should  be  lost  in  that  wilderness  of  a  house. 
There  was  an  old  nursery,  that  had  been  used  for  all 
the  little  lords  and  ladies  long  ago,  with  a  pleasant 
fire  burning  in  the  grate,  and  the  kettle  boiling  on 
the  hob,  and  tea-things  spread  out  on  the  table; 
and  out  of  that  room  was  the  night-nursery,  with  a 


THE   OLD   NURSE'S   STORY  133 

little  crib  for  Miss  Rosamond  close  to  my  bed. 
And  old  James  called  up  Dorothy,  his  wife,  to  bid  us 
welcome;  and  both  he  and  she  were  so  hospitable 
and  kind,  that  by-and-by  Miss  Rosamond  and  me 
felt  quite  at  home;  and  by  the  time  tea  was  over,  she 
was  sitting  on  Dorothy's  knee,  and  chattering  away 
as  fast  as  her  little  tongue  could  go.  I  soon  found 
out  that  Dorothy  was  from  Westmoreland,  and  that 
bound  her  and  me  together,  as  it  were;  and  I  would 
never  wish  to  meet  with  kinder  people  than  were  old 
James  and  his  wife.  James  had  lived  pretty  nearly 
all  his  life  in  my  lord's  family,  and  thought  there  was 
no  one  so  grand  as  they.  He  even  looked  down  a 
little  on  his  wife;  because,  till  he  had  married  her, 
she  had  never  lived  in  any  but  a  farmer's  household. 
But  he  was  very  fond  of  her,  as  well  he  might  be. 
They  had  one  servant  under  them,  to  do  all  the 
rough  work.  Agnes  they  called  her;  and  she  and 
me,  and  James  and  Dorothy,  with  Miss  Furnivall 
and  Mrs.  Stark,  made  up  the  family;  always  re- 
membering my  sweet  little  Miss  Rosamond!  I 
used  to  wonder  what  they  had  done  before  she 
came,  they  thought  so  much  of  her  now.  Kitchen 
and  drawing-room,  it  was  all  the  same.  The  hard, 
sad  Miss  Furnivall,  and  the  cold  Mrs.  Stark, 
looked  pleased  when  she  came  fluttering  in  like  a 
bird,  playing  and  pranking  hither  and  thither, 
with  a  continual  murmur,  and  pretty  prattle  of 


134  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

gladness.  I  am  sure,  they  were  sorry  .many  a  time 
when  she  flitted  away  into  the  kitchen,  though  they 
were  too  proud  to  ask  her  to  stay  with  them,  and 
were  a  little  surprised  at  her  taste;  though  to  be 
sure,  as  Mrs.  Stark  said,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered 
at,  remembering  what  stock  her  father  had  come  of. 
The  great,  old  rambling  house  was  a  famous  place 
for  little  Miss  Rosamond.  She  made  expeditions  all 
over  it,  with  me  at  her  heels;  all,  except  the  east 
wing,  which  was  never  opened,  and  whither  we 
never  thought  of  going.  But  in  the  western  and 
northern  part  was  many  a  pleasant  room;  full  of 
things  that  were  curiosities  to  us,  though  they 
might  not  have  been  to  people  who  had  seen  more. 
The  windows  were  darkened  by  the  sweeping 
boughs  of  the  trees,  and  the  ivy  which  had  over- 
grown them;  but,  in  the  green  gloom,  we  could 
manage  to  see  old  china  jars  and  carved  ivory 
boxes,  and  great  heavy  books,  and,  above  all,  the 
old  pictures! 

Once,  I  remember,  my  darling  would  have 
Dorothy  go  with  us  to  tell  us  who  they  all  were;  for 
they  were  all  portraits  of  some  of  my  lord's  family, 
though  Dorothy  could  not  tell  us  the  names  of 
every  one.  We  had  gone  through  most  of  the 
rooms,  when  we  came  to  the  old  state  drawing-room 
over  the  hall,  and  there  was  a  picture  of  Miss 
Furnivall;  or,  as  she  was  called  in  those  days, 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  135 

Miss  Grace,  for  she  was  the  younger  sister.  Such  a 
beauty  she  must  have  been!  but  with  such  a  set, 
proud  look,  and  such  scorn  looking  out  of  her  hand- 
some eyes,  with  her  eyebrows  just  a  little  raised, 
as  if  she  wondered  how  any  one  could  have  the  im- 
pertinence to  look  at  her,  and  her  lip  curled  at  us, 
as  we  stood  there  gazing.  She  had  a  dress  on,  the 
like  of  which  I  had  never  seen  before,  but  it  was  all 
the  fashion  when  she  was  young:  a  hat  of  some 
soft  white  stuff  like  beaver,  pulled  a  little  over  her 
brows,  and  a  beautiful  plume  of  feathers  sweeping 
round  it  on  one  side;  and  her  gown  of  blue  satin 
was  open  in  front  to  a  quilted  white  stomacher. 

"Well,  to  be  sure!"  said  I,  when  I  had  gazed 
my  fill.  " Flesh  is  grass,  they  do  say;  but  who 
would  have  thought  that  Miss  Furnivall  had  been 
such  an  out-an-out  beauty,  to  see  her  now?" 

"Yes,"  said  Dorothy.  "Folks  change  sadly. 
But  if  what  my  master's  father  used  to  say  was 
true,  Miss  Furnivall,  the  elder  sister,  was  handsomer 
than  Miss  Grace.  Her  picture  is  here  somewhere; 
but,  if  I  show  it  you,  you  must  never  let  on,  even  to 
James,  that  you  have  seen  it.  Can  the  little  lady 
hold  her  tongue,  think  you?"  asked  she. 

I  was  not  so  sure,  for  she  was  such  a  little  sweet, 
bold,  open  spoken  child,  so  I  set  her  to  hide  herself; 
and  then  I  helped  Dorothy  to  turn  a  great  picture, 
that  leaned  with  its  face  towards  the  wall,  and 


136  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

was  not  hung  up  as  the  others  were.  To  be  sure,  it 
beat  Miss  Grace  for  beauty;  and,  I  think,  for 
scornful  pride,  too,  though  in  that  matter  it  might 
be  hard  to  choose.  I  could  have  looked  at  it  an 
hour,  but  Dorothy  seemed  half  frightened  at 
having  shown  it  to  me,  and  hurried  it  back  again, 
and  bade  me  run  and  find  Miss  Rosamond,  for  that 
there  were  some  ugly  places  about  the  house,  where 
she  should  like  ill  for  the  child  to  go.  I  was  a  brave, 
high-spirited  girl,  and  thought  little  of  what  the 
old  woman  said,  for  I  liked  hide-and-seek  as  well 
as  any  child  in  the  parish;  so  off  I  ran  to  find  my 
little  one. 

As  winter  drew  on,  and  the  days  grew  shorter,  I 
was  sometimes  almost  certain  that  I  heard  a  noise 
as  if  some  one  was  playing  on  the  great  organ  in  the 
hall.  I  did  not  hear  it  every  evening;  but,  certainly, 
I  did  very  often,  usually  when  I  was  sitting  with 
Miss  Rosamond,  after  I  had  put  her  to  bed,  and 
keeping  quite  still  and  silent  in  the  bedroom. 
Then  I  used  to  hear  it  booming  and  swelling  away 
in  the  distance.  The  first  night,  when  I  went  down 
to  my  supper,  I  asked  Dorothy  who  had  been 
playing  music,  and  James  said  very  shortly  that  I 
was  a  gowk  to  take  the  wind  soughing  among  the 
trees  for  music;  but  I  saw  Dorothy  look  at  him 
very  fearfully,  and  Bessy,  the  kitchen-maid,  said 
something  beneath  her  breath,  and  went  quite 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  137 

white.  I  saw  they  did  not  like  my  question,  so  I 
held  my  peace  till  I  was  with  Dorothy  alone,  when 
I  knew  I  could  get  a  good  deal  out  of  her.  So,  the 
next  day,  I  watched  my  time,  and  I  coaxed  and 
asked  her  who  it  was  that  played  the  organ;  for  I 
knew  that  it  was  the  organ  and  not  the  wind  well 
enough,  for  all  I  had  kept  silence  before  James. 
But  Dorothy  had  had  her  lesson,  I'll  warrant,  and 
never  a  word  could  I  get  from  her.  So  then  I  tried 
Bessy,  though  I  had  always  held  my  head  rather 
above  her,  as  I  was  evened  to  James  and  Dorothy, 
and  she  was  little  better  than  their  servant.  So 
she  said  I  must  never,  never  tell ;  and  if  ever  I  told, 
I  was  never  to  say  she  had  told  me;  but  it  was  a 
very  strange  noise,  and  she  had  heard  it  many  a 
time,  but  most  of  all  on  winter  nights,  and  before 
storms;  and  folks  did  say  it  was  the  old  lord  playing 
on  the  great  organ  in  the  hall,  just  as  he  used  to  do 
when  he  was  alive;  but  who  the  old  lord  was,  or  why 
he  played,  and  why  he  played  on  stormy  winter 
evenings  in  particular,  she  either  could  not  or 
would  not  tell  me.  Well !  I  told  you  I  had  a  brave 
heart;  and  I  thought  it  was  rather  pleasant  to  have 
that  grand  music  rolling  about  the  house,  let  who 
would  be  the  player;  for  now  it  rose  above  the 
great  gusts  of  wind,  and  wailed  and  triumphed 
just  like  a  living  creature,  and  then  it  fell  to  a 
softness  most  complete,  only  it  was  always  music, 


138  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

and  tunes,  so  it  was  nonsense  to  call  it  the  wind. 
I  thought  at  first,  that  it  might  be  Miss  Furnivall 
who  played,  unknown  to  Bessy;  but  one  day, 
when  I  was  in  the  hall  by  myself,  I  opened  the 
organ  and  peeped  all  about  it  and  around  it,  as  I  had 
done  to  the  organ  in  Crosthwaite  Church  once 
before,  and  I  saw  it  was  all  broken  and  destroyed 
inside,  though  it  looked  so  brave  and  fine;  and  then, 
though  it  was  noon-day,  my  flesh  began  to  creep  a 
little,  and  I  shut  it  up,  and  run  away  pretty  quickly 
to  my  own  bright  nursery;  and  I  did  not  like 
hearing  the  music  for  some  time  after  that,  any  more 
than  James  and  Dorothy  did.  All  this  time  Miss 
Rosamond  was  making  herself  more  and  more 
beloved.  The  old  ladies  liked  her  to  dine  with 
them  at  their  early  dinner.  James  stood  behind 
Miss  Furnivall's  chair,  and  I  behind  Miss  Rosa- 
mond's all  in  state;  and  after  dinner,  she  would 
play  about  in  a  corner  of  the  great  drawing-room  as 
still  as  any  mouse,  while  Miss  Furnivall  slept,  and  I 
had  my  dinner  in  the  kitchen.  But  she  was  glad 
enough  to  come  to  me  in  the  nursery  afterwards; 
for,  as  she  said,  Miss  Furnivall  was  so  sad,  and 
Mrs.  Stark  so  dull;  but  she  and  I  were  merry 
enough;  and  by-and-by,  I  got  not  to  care  for  that 
weird  rolling  music,  which  did  one  no  harm,  if  we 
did  not  know  where  it  came  from. 

That  winter  was  very  cold.     In  the  middle  of 


THE   OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  139 

October  the  frosts  began,  and  lasted  many,  many 
weeks.  I  remember  one  day,  at  dinner,  Miss 
Furnivall  lifted  up  her  sad,  heavy  eyes,  and  said  to 
Mrs.  Stark,  "I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  a  terrible 
winter,"  in  a  strange  kind  of  meaning  way.  But 
Mrs.  Stark  pretended  not  to  hear,  and  talked  very 
loud  of  something  else.  My  little  lady  and  I  did 
not  care  for  the  frost;  not  we!  As  long  as  it  was 
dry,  we  climbed  up  the  steep  brows  behind  the 
house,  and  went  up  on  the  Fells,  which  were  bleak 
and  bare  enough,  and  there  we  ran  races  in  the 
fresh,  sharp  air;  and  once  we  came  down  by  a  new 
path,  that  took  us  past  the  two  old  gnarled  holly- 
trees,  which  grew  about  halfway  down  by  the  east 
side  of  the  house.  But  the  days  grew  shorter  and 
shorter,  and  the  old  lord,  if  it  was  he,  played  away, 
more  and  more  stormily  and  sadly,  on  the  great 
organ.  One  Sunday  afternoon  —  it  must  have  been 
towards  the  end  of  November  —  I  asked  Dorothy 
to  take  charge  of  little  missy  when  she  came  out  of 
the  drawing-room,  after  Miss  Furnivall  had  had  her 
nap;  for  it  was  too  cold  to  take  her  with  me  to 
church,  and  yet  I  wanted  to  go.  And  Dorothy  was 
glad  enough  to  promise,  and  was  so  fond  of  the 
child,  that  all  seemed  well;  and  Bessy  and  I  set  off 
very  briskly,  though  the  sky  hung  heavy  and  black 
over  the  white  earth,  as  if  the  night  had  never  fully 
gone  away,  and  the  air,  though  still,  was  very  biting 
and  keen. 


140  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

"We  shall  have  a  fall  of  snow,"  said  Bessy  to  me. 
And  sure  enough,  even  while  we  were  in  church,  it 
came  down  thick,  in  great  large  flakes  —  so  thick, 
it  almost  darkened  the  windows.  It  had  stopped 
snowing  before  we  came  out,  but  it  lay  soft,  thick, 
and  deep  beneath  our  feet,  as  we  tramped  home. 
Before  we  got  to  the  hall,  the  moon  rose,  and  I 
think  it  was  lighter  then  —  what  with  the  moon, 
and  what  with  the  white  dazzling  snow  —  than  it 
had  been  when  we  went  to  church,  between  two  and 
three  o'clock.  I  have  not  told  you  that  Miss  Furni- 
vall  and  Mrs.  Stark  never  went  to  church;  they 
used  to  read  the  prayers  together,  in  their  quiet, 
gloomy  way;  they  seemed  to  feel  the  Sunday  very 
long  without  their  tapestry-work  to  be  busy  at. 
So  when  I  went  to  Dorothy  in  the  kitchen,  to  fetch 
Miss  Rosamond  and  take  her  upstairs  with  me,  I 
did  not  much  wonder  when  the  old  woman  told  me 
that  the  ladies  had  kept  the  child  with  them,  and 
that  she  had  never  come  to  the  kitchen,  as  I  had 
bidden  her,  when  she  wras  tired  of  behaving  pretty  in 
the  drawing-room.  So  I  took  off  my  things  and 
went  to  find  her,  and  bring  her  to  her  supper  in  the 
nursery.  But  when  I  went  into  the  best  .drawing- 
room,  there  sat  the  two  old  ladies,  very  still  and 
quiet,  dropping  out  a  word  now  and  then,  but  look- 
ing as  if  nothing  so  bright  and  merry  as  Miss  Rosa- 
mond had  ever  been  near  them.  Still  I  thought  she 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S   STORY  141 

might  be  hiding  from  me;  it  was  one  of  her  pretty 
ways, —  and  that  she  had  persuaded  them  to  look 
as  if  they  knew  nothing  about  her;  so  I  went  softly 
peeping  under  this  sofa,  and  behind  that  chair, 
making  believe  I  was  sadly  frightened  at  not  finding 
her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Hester?"  said  Mrs.  Stark 
sharply.  I  don't  know  if  Miss  Furnivall  had  seen 
me,  for,  as  I  told  you,  she  was  very  deaf,  and  she  sat 
quite  still,  idly  staring  into  the  fire,  with  her  hope- 
less face.  "I  am  only  looking  for  my  little  Rosy 
Posy,"  replied  I,  still  thinking  that  the  child  was 
there,  and  near  me,  though  I  could  not  see  her. 

"Miss  Rosamond  is  not  here,"  said  Mrs.  Stark. 
"She  went  away,  more  than  an  hour  ago,  to  find 
Dorothy."  And  she,  too,  turned  and  went  on  look- 
ing into  the  fire. 

My  heart  sank  at  this,  and  I  began  to  wish  I  had 
never  left  my  darling.  I  went  back  to  Dorothy  and 
told  her.  James  was  gone  out  for  the  day,  but  she, 
and  me,  and  Bessy  took  lights,  and  went  up  into  the 
nursery  first;  and  then  we  roamed  over  the  great, 
large  house,  calling  and  entreating  Miss  Rosamond 
to  come  out  of  her  hiding-place,  and  not  frighten  us 
to  death  in  that  way.  But  there  was  no  answer;  no 
sound. 

"Oh!"  said  I,  at  last,  "can  she  have  got  into  the 
east  wing  and  hidden  there?" 


142  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

But  Dorothy  said  it  was  not  possible,  for  that  she 
herself  had  never  been  in  there;  that  the  doors  were 
always  locked,  and  my  lord's  steward  had  the  keys, 
she  believed;  at  any  rate,  neither  she  nor  James  had 
ever  seen  them :  so  I  said  I  would  go  back,  and  see 
if,  after  all,  she  was  not  hidden  in  the  drawing-room, 
unknown  to  the  old  ladies;  and  if  I  found  her  there, 
I  said,  I  would  whip  her  well  for  the  fright  she 
had  given  me;  but  I  never  meant  to  do  it. 
Well,  I  went  back  to  the  west  drawing-room 
and  I  told  Mrs.  Stark  we  could  not  find  her 
anywhere,  and  asked  for  leave  to  look  all  about  the 
furniture  there,  for  I  thought  now  that  she  might 
have  fallen  asleep  in  some  warm,  hidden  corner; 
but  no!  we  looked  —  Miss  Furnivall  got  up  and 
looked,  trembling  all  over  —  and  she  was  nowhere 
there;  then  we  set  off  again,  every  one  in  the  house, 
and  looked  in  all  the  places  we  had  searched  before, 
but  we  could  not  find  her.  Miss  Furnivall  shivered 
and  shook  so  much,  that  Mrs.  Stark  took  her  back 
into  the  warm  drawing-room;  but  not  before  they 
had  made  me  promise  to  bring  her  to  them  when 
she  was  found.  Well-a-day!  I  began  to  think  she 
never  would  be  found,  when  I  bethought  me  to  look 
into  the  great  front  court,  all  covered  with  snow.  I 
was  upstairs  when  I  looked  out;  but,  it  was  such 
clear  moonlight,  I  could  see,  quite  plain,  two  little 
footprints,  which  might  be  traced  from  the  hall- 


THE   OLD   NURSE'S  STORY  143 

door  and  round  the  corner  of  the  east  wing.  I  don't 
know  how  I  got  down,  but  I  tugged  open  the  great 
stiff  hall-door,  and,  throwing  the  skirt  of  my  gown 
over  my  head  for  a  cloak,  I  ran  out.  I  turned  the 
east  corner,  and  there  a  black  shadow  fell  on  the 
snow;  but  when  I  came  again  into  the  moonlight, 
there  were  the  little  footmarks  going  up  —  up  to  the 
Fells.  It  was  bitter  cold;  so  cold,  that  the  air  almost 
took  the  skin  off  my  face  as  I  ran;  but  I  ran  on, 
crying  to  think  how  my  poor  little  darling  must  be 
perished  and  frightened.  I  was  within  sight  of  the 
holly-trees,  when  I  saw  a  shepherd  coming  down  the 
hill,  bearing  something  in  his  arms  wrapped  in  his 
maud.  He  shouted  to  me  and  asked  me  if  I  had  lost 
a  bairn;  and,  when  I  could  not  speak  for  crying,  he 
bore  toward  me,  and  I  saw  my  wee  bairnie,  lying 
still,  and  white,  and  stiff  in  his  arms,  as  if  she  had 
been  dead.  He  told  me  he  had  been  up  the  Fells  to 
gather  in  his  sheep,  before  the  deep  cold  of  night 
came  on,  and  that  under  the  holly-trees  (black  marks 
on  the  hillside,  where  no  other  bush  was  for  miles 
around)  he  had  found  my  little  lady  —  my  lamb  — 
my  queen  —  my  darling  —  stiff  and  cold  in  the 
terrible  sleep  which  is  frost  begotten.  Oh!  the  joy 
and  the  tears  of  having  her  in  my  arms  once  again ! 
for  I  would  not  let  him  carry  her;  but  took  her, 
maud  and  all,  into  my  own  arms,  and  held  her  near 
my  own  warm  neck  and  heart,  and  felt  the  life 


144  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

stealing  slowly  back  again  into  her  little  gentle 
limbs.  But  she  was  still  insensible  when  we  reached 
the  hall,  and  I  had  no  breath  for  speech.  We  went 
in  by  the  kitchen-door. 

"Bring  the  warming-pan,"  said  I;  and  I  carried 
her  upstairs,  and  began  undressing  her  by  the  nur- 
sery fire,  which  Bessy  had  kept  up.  I  called  my 
little  lammie  all  the  sweet  and  playful  names  I  could 
think  of, —  even  while  my  eyes  were  blinded  by  my 
tears;  and  at  last,  oh!  at  length  she  opened  her 
large  blue  eyes.  Then  I  put  her  into  her  warm  bed, 
and  sent  Dorothy  down  to  tell  Miss  Furnivall  that 
all  was  well;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  sit  by  my 
darling's  bedside  the  live-long  night.  She  fell  away 
into  a  soft  sleep  as  soon  as  her  pretty  head  had 
touched  the  pillow,  and  I  watched  by  her  till 
morning  light;  when  she  wakened  up  bright  and 
clear  —  or  so  I  thought  at  first  —  and,  my  dears,  so 
I  think  now. 

She  said,  that  she  had  fancied  that  she  should  like 
to  go  to  Dorothy,  for  that  both  the  old  ladies  were 
asleep,  and  it  was  very  dull  in  the  drawing-room; 
and  that,  as  she  was  going  through  the  west  lobby, 
she  saw  the  snow  through  the  high  window  falling  — 
falling  —  soft  and  steady;  but  she  wanted  to  see  it 
lying  pretty  and  white  on  the  ground:  so  she  made 
her  way  into  the  great  hall:  and  then,  going  to  the 
window,  she  saw  it  bright  and  soft  upon  the  drive; 


THE   OLD   NURSE'S   STORY  145 

but  while  she  stood  there,  she  saw  a  little  girl,  not  so 
old  as  she  was,  "but  so  pretty,"  said  my  darling, 
"and  this  little  girl  beckoned  to  me  to  come  out; 
and  oh,  she  was  so  pretty  and  so  sweet,  I  could  not 
choose  but  go."  And  then  this  other  little  girl  had 
taken  her  by  the  hand,  and  side  by  side  the  two  had 
gone  round  the  east  corner. 

"Now  you  are  a  naughty  little  girl,  and  telling 
stories,"  said  I.  "What  would  your  good  mamma, 
that  is  in  heaven,  and  never  told  a  story  in  her  life, 
say  to  her  little  Rosamond,  if  she  heard  her  —  and 
I  dare  say  she  does  —  telling  storeis!" 

"Indeed,  Hester,"  sobbed  out  my  child,  "I'm 
telling  you  true.  Indeed  I  am." 

"Don't  tell  me!"  said  I,  very  stern.  "I  tracked 
you  by  your  foot-marks  through  the  snow;  there 
were  only  yours  to  be  seen:  and  if  you  had  had  a 
little  girl  to  go  hand-in-hand  with  you  up  the  hill, 
don't  you  think  the  footprints  would  have  gone 
along  with  yours?" 

"I  can't  help  it,  dear,  dear  Hester,"  said  she, 
crying,  "if  they  did  not;  I  never  looked  at  her  feet, 
but  she  held  my  hand  fast  and  tight  in  her  little  one, 
and  it  was  very,  very  cold.  She  took  me  up  the 
Fell-path,  up  to  the  holly- trees;  and  there  I  saw  a 
lady  weeping  and  crying;  but  when  she  saw  me  she 
hushed  her  weeping,  and  smiled  very  proud  and 
grand,  and  took  me  on  her  knee,  and  began  to  lull 


146  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

me  to  sleep;  and  that's  all,  Hester  —  but  that  is 
true;  and  my  dear  mamma  knows  it  is,"  said  she, 
crying.  So  I  thought  the  child  was  in  a  fever,  and 
pretended  to  believe  her,  as  she  went  over  her  story 
—  over  and  over  again,  and  always  the  same.  At 
last  Dorothy  knocked  at  the  door  with  Miss  Rosa- 
mond's breakfast;  and  she  told  me  the  old  ladies 
were  down  in  the  eating  parlor,  and  that  they 
wanted  to  speak  to  me.  They  had  both  been  into 
the  night-nursery  the  evening  before,  but  it  was 
after  Miss  Rosamond  was  asleep;  so  they  had  only 
looked  at  her  —  not  asked  me  any  questions. 

"I  shall  catch  it,"  thought  I  to  myself,  as  I  went 
along  the  north  gallery.  "And  yet,"  I  thought, 
taking  courage,  "it  was  in  their  charge  I  left  her; 
and  it's  they  that's  to  blame  for  letting  her  steal 
away  unknown  and  unwatched."  So  I  went  in 
boldly,  and  told  my  story.  I  told  it  all  to  Miss  Fur- 
nivall,  shouting  it  close  to  her  ear;  but  when  I  came 
to  the  mention  of  the  other  little  girl  out  in  the  snow, 
coaxing  and  tempting  her  out,  and  wiling  her  up  to 
the  grand  and  beautiful  lady  by  the  holly-tree,  she 
threw  her  arms  up  —  her  old  and  withered  arms  — 
and  cried  aloud,  "Oh!  Heaven  forgive!  Have 
mercy!" 

Mrs.  Stark  took  hold  of  her;  roughly  enough,  I 
thought;  but  she  was  past  Mrs.  Stark's  management, 
and  spoke  to  me,  in  a  kind  of  wild  warning  and 
authority. 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  147 

"Hester!  keep  her  from  that  child!  It  will  lure 
her  to  her  death!  That  evil  child!  Tell  her  it  is  a 
wicked,  naughty  child."  Then,  Mrs.  Stark  hurried 
me  out  of  the  room;  where,  indeed,  I  was  glad 
enough  to  go;  but  Miss  Furnivall  kept  shrieking 
out,  "Oh,  have  mercy!  Wilt  Thou  never  forgive! 
It  is  many  a  long  year  ago " 

I  was  very  uneasy  in  my  mind  after  that.  I  durst 
never  leave  Miss  Rosamond,  night  or  day,  for  fear 
lest  she  might  slip  off  again,  after  some  fancy  or 
other;  and  all  the  more,  because  I  thought  I  could 
make  out  that  Miss  Furnivall  was  crazy,  from  their 
odd  ways  about  her;  and  I  was  afraid  lest  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  (which  might  be  in  the 
family,  you  know)  hung  over  my  darling.  And  the 
great  frost  never  ceased  all  this  time;  and,  whenever 
it  was  a  more  stormy  night  than  usual,  between  the 
gusts,  and  through  the  wind,  we  heard  the  old  lord 
playing  on  the  great  organ.  But,  old  lord,  or  not, 
wherever  Miss  Rosamond  went,  there  I  followed;  for 
my  love  for  her,  pretty,  helpless  orphan,  was 
stronger  than  my  fear  for  the  grand  and  terrible 
sound.  Besides,  it  rested  with  me  to  keep  her  cheer- 
ful and  merry,  as  beseemed  her  age.  So  we  played 
together,  and  wandered  together,  here  and  there, 
and  everywhere;  for  I  never  dared  to  lose  sight 
of  her  again  in  that  large  and  rambling  house.  And 
so  it  happened,  that  one  afternoon,  not  long  before 


148  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

Christmas-day,  we  were  playing  together  on  the 
billiard-table  in  the  great  hall  (not  that  we  knew 
the  right  way  of  playing,  but  she  liked  to  roll  the 
smooth  ivory  balls  with  her  pretty  hands,  and  I 
liked  to  do  whatever  she  did);-  and,  by-and-by, 
without  our  noticing  it,  it  grew  dusk  indoors, 
though  it  was  light  in  the  open  air,  and  I  was  think- 
ing of  taking  her  back  into  the  nursery,  when  all  of 
a  sudden  she  cried  out  — 

"Look,  Hester!  look!  there  is  my  poor  little  girl 
out  in  the  snow!" 

I  turned  towards  the  long  narrow  windows,  and 
there,  sure  enough,  I  saw  a  little  girl,  less  than  my 
Miss  Rosamond  —  dressed  all  unfit  to  be  out-of- 
doors  such  a  bitter  night  —  crying,  and  beating 
against  the  window  panes,  as  if  she  wanted  to  be  let 
in.  She  seemed  to  sob  and  wail,  till  Miss  Rosamond 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  was  flying  to  the  door  to 
open  it,  when,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  close  upon  us, 
the  great  organ  pealed  out  so  loud  and  thundering, 
it  fairly  made  me  tremble;  and  all  the  more,  when  I 
remembered  me  that,  even  in  the  stillness  of  that 
dead-cold  weather,  I  had  heard  no  sound  of  little 
battering  hands  upon  the  window-glass,  although  the 
phantom  child  had  seemed  to  put  forth  all  its  force; 
and,  although  I  had  seen  it  wail  and  cry,  no  faintest 
touch  of  sound  had  fallen  upon  my  ears.  Whether 
I  remembered  all  this  at  the  very  moment,  I  do  not 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  149 

know;  the  great  organ  sound  had  so  stunned  me 
into  terror;  but  this  I  know,  I  caught  up  Miss  Rosa- 
mond before  she  got  the  hall-door  opened,  and 
clutched  her,  and  carried  her  away,  kicking  and 
screaming,  into  the  large  bright  kitchen,  where 
Dorothy  and  Agnes  were  busy  with  their  mince-pies. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  my  sweet  one?"  cried 
Dorothy,  as  I  bore  in  Miss  Rosamond,  who  was 
sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"She  won't  let  me  open  the  door  for  my  little  girl 
to  come  in;  and  she'll  die  if  she  is  out  on  the  Fells 
all  night.  Cruel,  naughty  Hester,"  she  said,  slapping 
me;  but  she  might  have  struck  harder,  for  I  had  seen 
a  look  of  ghastly  terror  on  Dorothy's  face,  which 
made  my  very  blood  run  cold. 

"Shut  the  back-kitchen  door  fast,  and  bolt  it 
well,"  said  she  to  Agnes.  She  said  no  more;  she 
gave  me  raisins  and  almonds  to  quiet  Miss  Rosa- 
mond; but  she  sobbed  about  the  little  girl  in  the 
snow,  and  would  not  touch  any  of  the  good  things. 
I  was  thankful  when  she  cried  herself  to  sleep  in  bed. 
Then  I  stole  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  told  Dorothy 
I  had  made  up  my  mind.  I  would  carry  my  darling 
back  to  my  father's  house,  in  Applethwaite;  where, 
if  we  lived  humbly,  we  lived  in  peace.  I  said  I  had 
been  frightened  enough  with  the  old  lord's  organ- 
playing;  but  now  that  I  had  seen  for  myself  this 
little  moaning  child,  all  decked  out  as  no  child  in 


150 


BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 


the  neighborhood  could  be,  beating  and  battering 
to  get  in,  yet  always  without  any  sound  or  noise  — 
with  the  dark  wound  on  its  right  shoulder;  and  that 
Miss  Rosamond  had  known  it  again  for  the  phan- 
tom that  had  nearly  lured  her  to  her  death  (which 
Dorothy  knew  was  true);  I  would  stand  it  no 
longer. 

I  saw  Dorothy  change  color  once  or  twice.  When 
I  had  done,  she  told  me  she  did  not  think  I  could 
take  Miss  Rosamond  with  me,  for  that  she  was  my 
lord's  ward,  and  I  had  no  right  over  her;  and  she 
asked  me  would  I  leave  the  child  that  I  was  so  fond 
of  just  for  sounds  and  sights  that  could  do  me  no 
harm;  and  that  they  had  all  had  to  get  used  to  in 
their  turns?  I  was  all  in  a  hot,  trembling  passion; 
and  I  said  it  was  very  well  for  her  to  talk,  that  knew 
what  these  sights  and  noises  betokened,  and  that 
had,  perhaps,  had  something  to  do  with  the  spectre 
child  while  it  was  alive.  And  I  taunted  her  so,  that 
she  told  me  all  she  knew  at  last;  and  then  I  wished  I 
had  never  been  told,  for  it  only  made  me  more  afraid 
than  ever. 

She  said  she  had  heard  the  tale  from  old  neighbors 
that  were  alive  when  she  was  first  married;  when 
folks  used  to  come  to  the  hall  sometimes,  before  it 
had  got  such  a  bad  name  on  the  country  side:  it 
might  not  be  true,  or  it  might,  what  she  had  been 
told. 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S   STORY  151 

The  old  lord  was  Miss  Furnivall's  father  —  Miss 
Grace,  as  Dorothy  called  her,  for  Miss  Maude  was 
the  elder,  and  Miss  Furnivall  by  rights.  The  old 
lord  was  eaten  up  with  pride.  Such  a  proud  man  was 
never  seen  or  heard  of;  and  his  daughters  were  like 
him.  No  one  was  good  enough  to  wed  them, 
although  they  had  choice  enough;  for  they  were  the 
great  beauties  of  their  day,  as  I  had  seen  by  their 
portraits,  where  they  hung  in  the  state  drawing- 
room.  But,  as  the  old  saying  is,  "  Pride  will  have  a 
fall;"  and  these  two  haughty  beauties  fell  in  love 
with  the  same  man,  and  he  no  better  than  a  foreign 
musician,  whom  their  father  had  down  from  London 
to  play  music  with  him  at  the  Manor  House.  For 
above  all  things,  next  to  his  pride,  the  old  lord  loved 
music.  He  could  play  on  nearly  every  instrument 
that  ever  was  heard  of;  and  it  was  a  strange  thing  it 
did  not  soften  him;  but  he  was  a  fierce  dour  old 
man,  and  had  broken  his  wife's  heart  with  his 
cruelty,  they  said.  He  was  mad  after  music,  and 
would  pay  any  money  for  it.  So  he  got  this  for- 
eigner to  come;  who  made  such  beautiful  music,  that 
they  said  the  very  birds  on  the  trees  stopped  their 
singing  to  listen.  And,  by  degrees,  this  foreign 
gentleman  got  such  a  hold  over  the  old  lord,  that 
nothing  would  serve  him  but  that  he  must  come 
every  year;  and  it  was  he  that  had  the  great  organ 
brought  from  Holland,  and  built  up  in  the  hall, 


152  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

where  it  stood  now.  He  taught  the  old  lord  to  play 
on  it;  but  many  and  many  a  time,  when  Lord  Fur- 
nivall  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  his  fine  organ, 
and  his  finer  music,  the  dark  foreigner  was  walking 
abroad  in  the  woods  with  one  of  the  young  ladies; 
now  Miss  Maude,  and  then  Miss  Grace. 

Miss  Maude  won  the  day  and  carried  off  the 
prize,  such  as  it  was;  and  he  and  she  were  married, 
all  unknown  to  any  one;  and,  before  he  made  his 
next  yearly  visit,  she  had  been  confined  of  a  little 
girl  at  a  farm-house  on  the  Moors,  while  her  father 
and  Miss  Grace  thought  she  was  away  at  Doncaster 
Races.  But  though  she  was  a  wife  and  a  mother, 
she  was  not  a  bit  softened,  but  as  haughty  and  as 
passionate  as  ever;  and  perhaps  more  so,  for  she 
was  jealous  of  Miss  Grace,  to  whom  her  foreign 
husband  paid  a  deal  of  court  —  by  way  of  blinding 
her  —  as  he  told  his  wife.  But  Miss  Grace  tri- 
umphed over  Miss  Maude,  and  Miss  Maude  grew 
fiercer  and  fiercer,  both  with  her  husband  and  with 
her  sister;  and  the  former  —  who  could  easily 
shake  off  what  was  disagreeable,  and  hide  himself  in 
foreign  countries  —  went  away  a  month  before  his 
usual  time  that  summer,  and  half-threatened  that 
he  would  never  come  back  again.  Meanwhile,  the 
little  girl  was  left  at  the  farm-house,  and  her  mother 
used  to  have  her  horse  saddled  and  gallop  wildly 
over  the  hills  to  see  her  once  every  week,  at  the  very 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S   STORY  153 

least;  for  where  she  loved  she  loved,  and  where  she 
hated  she  hated.  And  the  old  lord  went  on  playing 
—  playing  on  his  organ;  and  the  servants  thought 
the  sweet  music  he  made  had  soothed  down  his 
awful  temper,  of  which  (Dorothy  said)  some  terrible 
tales  could  be  told.  He  grew  infirm  too,  and  had  to 
walk  with  a  crutch;  and  his  son  —  that  was  the 
present  Lord  Furnivall's  father  —  was  with  the 
army  in  America,  and  the  other  son  at  sea:  so  Miss 
Maude  had  it  pretty  much  her  own  way,  and  she 
and  Miss  Grace  grew  colder  and  bitterer  to  each 
other  every  day;  till  at  last  they  hardly  ever 
spoke,  except  when  the  old  lord  was  by.  The 
foreign  musician  came  again  the  next  summer,  but 
it  was  for  the  last  time;  for  they  led  him  such  a  life 
with  their  jealousy  and  their  passions,  that  he  grew 
weary,  and  went  away,  and  never  was  heard  of 
again.  And  Miss  Maude,  who  had  always  meant  to 
have  her  marriage  acknowledged  when  her  father 
should  be  dead,  was  left  now  a  deserted  wife,  whom 
nobody  knew  to  have  been  married,  with  a  child 
that  she  dared  not  own,  although  she  loved  it  to 
distraction;  living  with  a  father  whom  she  feared 
and  a  sister  whom  she  hated.  When  the  next  sum- 
mer passed  over,  and  the  dark  foreigner  never  came, 
both  Miss  Maude  and  Miss  Grace  grew  gloomy  and 
sad;  they  had  a  haggard  look  about  them,  though 
they  looked  handsome  as  ever.  But,  by-and-by, 


154  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

Miss  Maude  brightened;  for  her  father  grew  more 
arid  more  infirm,  and  more  than  ever  carried  away 
by  his  music;  and  she  and  Miss  Grace  lived  almost 
entirely  apart,  having  separate  rooms,  the  one  on 
the  west  side,  Miss  Maude  on  the  east  —  those  very 
rooms  which  were  now  shut  up.  So  she  thought  she 
might  have  her  little  girl  with  her,  and  no  one  need 
ever  know  except  those  who  dared  not  speak  about 
it,  and  were  bound  to  believe  that  it  was,  as  she  said, 
a  cottager's  child  she  had  taken  a  fancy  to  All  this, 
Dorothy  said,  was  pretty  well  known;  but  what 
came  afterwards  no  one  knew,  except  Miss  Grace 
and  Mrs.  Stark,  who  was  even  then  her  maid,  and 
much  more  of  a  friend  to  her  than  ever  her  sister  had 
been.  But  the  servants  supposed,  from  words  that 
were  dropped,  that  Miss  Maude  had  triumphed  over 
Miss  Grace,  and  told  her  that  all  the  time  the  dark 
foreigner  had  been  mocking  her  with  pretended 
love  —  he  was  her  own  husband.  The  color  left 
Miss  Grace's  cheek  and  lips  that  very  day  for  ever, 
and  she  was  heard  to  say  many  a  time  that  sooner  or 
later  she  would  have  her  revenge;  and  Mrs.  Stark 
was  for  ever  spying  about  the  east  rooms. 

One  fearful  night,  just  after  the  New  Year  had 
come  in,  when  the  snow  was  lying  thick  and  deep; 
and  the  flakes  were  still  falling  —  fast  enough  to 
blind  any  one  who  might  be  out  and  abroad  —  there 
was  a  great  and  violent  noise  heard,  and  the  old 


THE   OLD   NURSE'S   STORY  155 

lord's  voice  above  all,  cursing  and  swearing  awfully, 
and  the  cries  of  a  little  child,  and  the  proud  defiance 
of  a  fierce  woman,  and  the  sound  of  a  blow,  and  a 
dead  stillness,  and  moans  and  wailings,  dying  away 
on  the  hill-side !  Then  the  old  lord  summoned  all  the 
servants,  and  told  them,  with  terrible  oaths,  and 
words  more  terrible,  that  his  daughter  had  dis- 
graced herself,  and  that  he  had  turned  her  out  of 
doors  —  her,  and  her  child  —  and  that  if  ever  they 
gave  her  help,  or  food,  or  shelter,  he  prayed  that 
they  might  never  enter  heaven.  And,  all  the  while, 
Miss  Grace  stood  by  him,  white  and  still  as  any 
stone;  and,  when  he  had  ended,  she  heaved  a  great 
sigh,  as  much  as  to  say  her  work  was  done,  and  her 
end  was  accomplished.  But  the  old  lord  never 
touched  his  organ  again,  and  died  within  the  year,' 
and  no  wonder!  for,  on  the  morrow  of  that  wild  and 
fearful  night,  the  shepherds,  coming  down  the  Fell 
side,  found  Miss  Maude  sitting,  all  crazy  and  smiling, 
under  the  holly-trees,  nursing  a  dead  child,  with  a 
terrible  mark  on  its  right  shoulder.  "But  that  was 
not  what  killed  it,"  said  Dorothy:  " it  was  the  frost 
and  the  cold.  Every  wild  creature  was  in  its  hole, 
and  every  beast  in  its  fold,  while  the  child  and  its 
mother  were  turned  out  to  wander  on  the  Fells! 
And  now  you  know  all !  and  I  wonder  if  you  are  less 
frightened  now!" 

I  was  more  frightened  than  ever;   but  I  said  I 


156  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

was  not.  I  wished  Miss  Rosamond  and  myself  well 
out  of  that  dreadful  house  for  ever;  but  I  would  not 
leave  her,  and  I  dared  not  take  her  away.  But  oh, 
how  I  watched  her,  and  guarded  her!  We  bolted 
the  doors,  and  shut  the  window-shutters  fast,  an 
hour  or  more  before  dark,  rather  than  leave  them 
open  five  minutes  too  late.  But  my  little  lady  still 
heard  the  weird  child  crying  and  mourning;  and  not 
all  we  could  do  or  say  could  keep  her  from  wanting 
to  go  to  her,  and  let  her  in  from  the  cruel  wind  and 
the  snow.  All  this  time  I  kept  away  from  Miss 
Furnivall  and  Mrs.  Stark,  as  much  as  ever  I  could; 
for  I  feared  them  —  I  knew  no  good  could  be  about 
them,  with  their  gray,  hard  faces,  and  their  dreamy 
eyes,  looking  back  into  the  ghastly  years  that  were 
gone.  But,  even  in  my  fear,  I  had  a  kind  of  pity  for 
Miss  Furnivall,  at  least.  Those  gone  down  to  the 
pit  can  hardly  have  a  more  hopeless  look  than  that 
which  was  ever  on  her  face.  At  last  I  even  got  so 
sorry  for  her  —  who  never  said  a  word  but  what  was 
quite  forced  from  her  —  that  I  prayed  for  her;  and 
I  taught  Miss  Rosamond  to  pray  for  one  who  had 
done  a  deadly  sin;  but  often  when  she  came  to  those 
words,  she  would  listen,  and  start  up  from  her  knees, 
and  say,  "I  hear  my  little  girl  plaining  and  crying, 
very  sad, —  oh,. let  her  in,  or  she  will  die!" 

One  night, —  just  after  New  Year's  Day  had  come 
at  last,  and  the  long  winter  had  taken  a  turn,  as  I 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  157 

hoped  —  I  heard  the  west  drawing-room  bell  ring 
three  times,  which  was  the  signal  for  me.  I  would 
not  leave  Miss  Rosamond  alone,  for  all  she  was 
asleep  —  for  the  old  lord  had  been  playing  wilder 
than  ever  —  and  I  feared  lest  my  darling  should 
waken  to  hear  the  spectre  child;  see  her  I  knew  she 
could  not.  I  had  fastened  the  windows  too  well  for 
that.  So  I  took  her  out  of  her  bed,  and  wrapped  her 
up  in  such  outer  clothes  as  were  most  handy,  and 
carried  her  down  to  the  drawing-room,  where  the 
old  ladies  sat  at  their  tapestry-work  as  usual.  They 
looked  up  when  I  came  in,  and  Mrs.  Stark  asked, 
quite  astounded,  "Why  did  I  bring  Miss  Rosamond 
there,  out  of  her  warm  bed?"  I  had  begun  to 
whisper,  "  Because  I  was  afraid  of  her  being  tempted 
out  while  I  was  away,  by  the  wild  child  in  the  snow," 
when  she  stopped  me  short  (with  a  glance  at  Miss 
Furnivall),  and  said  Miss  Furnivall  wanted  me  to 
undo  some  work  she  had  done  wrong,  and  which 
neither  of  them  could  see  to  unpick.  So  I  laid  my 
pretty  dear  on  the  sofa,  and  sat  down  on  a  stool  by 
them,  and  hardened  my  heart  against  them,  as  I 
heard  the  wind  rising  and  howling. 

Miss  Rosamond  slept  on  sound,  for  all  the  wind 
blew  so;  and  Miss  Furnivall  said  never  a  word,  nor 
looked  around  when  the  gusts  shook  the  windows. 
All  at  once  she  started  up  to  her  full  height,  and  put 
up  one  hand,  as  if  to  bid  us  listen. 


158  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

"I  hear  voices!"  said  she.  "I  hear  terrible 
screams  —  I  hear  my  father's  voice! " 

Just  at  that  moment  my  darling  wakened  with  a 
sudden  start:  "My  little  girl  is  crying,  oh,  how  she 
is  crying! "  and  she  tried  to  get  up  and  go  to  her,  but 
she  got  her  feet  entangled  in  the  blanket,  and  I 
caught  her  up;  for  my  flesh  had  begun  to  creep  at 
these  noises,  which  they  heard  while  we  could  catch 
no  sound.  In  a  minute  or  two  the  noises  came,  and 
gathered  fast,  and  filled  our  ears;  we,  too,  heard 
voices  and  screams,  and  no  longer  heard  the  winter's 
wind  that  raged  abroad.  Mrs.  Stark  looked  at  me, 
and  I  at  her,  but  we  dared  not  speak.  Suddenly 
Miss  Fur ni vail  went  towards  the  door,  out  into  the 
ante-room,  through  the  west  lobby,  and  opened  the 
door  into  the  great  hall.  Mrs.  Stark  followed,  and  I 
durst  not  be  left,  though  my  heart  almost  stopped 
beating  for  fear.  I  wrapped  my  darling  tight  in  my 
arms,  and  went  out  with  them.  In  the  hall  the 
screams  were  louder  than  ever;  they  seemed  to  come 
from  the  east  wing  —  nearer  and  nearer  —  close  on 
the  other  side  of  the  locked-up  doors  —  close  be- 
hind them.  Then  I  noticed  that  the  great  bronze 
chandelier  seemed  all  alight,  though  the  hall  was 
dim,  and  that  a  fire  was  blazing  in  the  vast  hearth- 
place,  though  it  gave  no  heat;  and  I  shuddered  up 
with  terror,  and  folded  my  darling  closer  to  me. 
But  as  I  did  so  the  east  door  shook,  and  she,  suddenly 


THE    OLD    NURSE'S    STORY  159 

struggling  to  get  free  from  me,  cried,  "Hester!  I 
must  go.  My  little  girl  is  there!  I  hear  her;  she  is 
coming!  Hester,  I  must  go!" 

I  held  her  tight  with  all  my  strength;  with  a  set 
will,  I  held  her.  If  I  had  died,  my  hands  would  have 
grasped  her  still,  I  was  so  resolved  in  my  mind. 
Miss  Furnivall  stood  listening,  and  paid  no  regard 
to  my  darling,  who  had  got  down  to  the  ground,  and 
whom  I,  upon  my  knees  now,  was  holding  with  both 
my  arms  clasped  round  her  neck;  she  was  still 
striving  and  crying  to  get  free. 

All  at  once,  the  east  door  gave  way  with  a  thun- 
dering crash,  as  if  torn  open  in  a  violent  passion,  and 
there  came  into  that  broad  and  mysterious  light,  the 
figure  of  a  tall  old  man,  with  gray  hair  and  gleaming 
eyes.  He  drove  before  him,  with  many  a  relentless 
gesture  of  abhorrence,  a  stern  and  beautiful  woman, 
with  a  little  child  clinging  to  her  dress. 

"O  Hester!  Hester!"  cried  Miss  Rosamond; 
"it's  the  lady!  the  lady  below  the  holly-trees;  and 
my  little  girl  is  with  her.  Hester!  Hester!  let  me 
go  to  her;  they  are  drawing  me  to 'them.  I  feel 
them  —  I  feel  them.  I  must  go! " 

Again  she  was  almost  convulsed  by  her  efforts  to 
get  away;  but  I  held  her  tighter  and  tighter,  till  I 
feared  I  should  do  her  a  hurt;  but  rather  that  than 
let  her  go  towards  those  terrible  phantoms.  They 
passed  along  towards  the  great  hall-door,  where  the 


l6o  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

winds  howled  and  ravened  for  their  prey ;  but  before 
they  reached  that,  the  lady  turned;  and  I  could  see 
that  she  defied  the  old  man  with  a  fierce  and  proud 
defiance;  but  then  she  quailed  —  and  then  she 
threw  up  her  arms  wildly  and  piteously  to  save  her 
child  —  her  little  child  —  from  a  blow  from  his  up- 
lifted crutch. 

And  Miss  Rosamond  was  torn  as  by  a  power 
stronger  than  mine,  and  writhed  in  my  arms,  and 
sobbed  (for  by  this  time  the  poor  darling  was  grow- 
ing faint). 

"They  want  me  to  go  with  them  on  to  the  Fells  — 
they  are  drawing  me  to  them.  Oh,  my  little  girl! 
I  would  come,  but  cruel,  wicked  Hester  holds  me 
very  tight."  But  when  she  saw  the  uplifted  crutch, 
she  swooned  away,  and  I  thanked  God  for  it.  Just 
at  this  moment  —  when  the  tall  old  man,  his  hair 
streaming  as  in  the  blast  of  a  furnace,  was  going  to 
strike  the  little  shrinking  child  —  Miss  Furnivall, 
the  old  woman  by  my  side,  cried  out,  "O  father! 
father!  spare  the  little  innocent  child!"  But  just 
then  I  saw  —  we  all  saw  —  another  phantom  shape 
itself,  and  grow  clear  out  of  the  blue  and  misty  light 
that  filled  the  hall;  we  had  not  seen  her  till  now,  for 
it  was  another  lady  who  stood  by  the  old  man,  with 
a  look  of  relentless  hate  and  triumphant  scorn. 
That  figure  was  very  beautiful  to  look  upon,  with  a 
soft,  white  hat  drawn  down  over  the  proud  brows, 


THE   OLD   NURSE'S   STORY  161 

and  a  red  and  curling  lip.  It  was  dressed  in  an  open 
robe  of  blue  satin.  I  had  seen  that  figure  before. 
It  was  the  likeness  of  Miss  Furnivall  in  her  youth; 
and  the  terrible  phantoms  moved  on,  regardless  of 
old  Miss  Furnivall's  wild  entreaty, —  and  the  up- 
lifted crutch  fell  on  the  right  shoulder  of  the  little 
child,  and  the  younger  sister  looked  on,  stony,  and 
deadly  serene.  But  at  that  moment,  the  dim  lights, 
and  the  fire  that  gave  no  heat,  went  out  of  them- 
selves, and  Miss  Furnivall  lay  at  our  feet  stricken 
down  by  the  palsy  —  death-stricken. 

Yes !  she  was  carried  to  her  bed  that  night  never 
to  rise  again.  She  lay  with  her  face  to  the  wall, 
muttering  low,  but  muttering  always:  "Alas!  alas! 
what  is  done  in  youth  can  never  be  undone  in  age! 
What  is  done  in  youth  can  never  be  undone  in  age! " 


THE  STORY  OF  RICHARD 
DOUBLEDICK 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 


THE  STORY  OF  RICHARD 
DOUBLEDICK 

IN  the  year  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  a  relative  of  mine  came  limping  down,  on 
foot,  to  this  town  of  Chatham.  I  call  it  this  town, 
because  if  anybody  present  knows  to  a  nicety  where 
Rochester  ends  and  Chatham  begins,  it  is  more  than 
I  do.  He  was  a  poor  traveller,  with  not  a  farthing 
in  his  pocket.  He  sat  by  the  fire  in  this  very  room, 
and  he  slept  one  night  in  a  bed  that  will  be  occupied 
to-night  by  some  one  here. 

My  relative  came  down  to  Chatham  to  enlist  in  a 
cavalry  regiment,  if  a  cavalry  regiment  would  have 
him;  if  not,  to  take  King  George's  shilling  from 
any  corporal  or  sergeant  who  would  put  a  bunch  of 
ribbons  in  his  hat.  His  object  was  to  get  shot;  but 
he  thought  he  might  as  well  ride  to  death  as  be  at 
the  trouble  of  walking. 

My  relative's  Christian  name  was  Richard,  but 
he  was  better  known  as  Dick.  He  dropped  his  own 
surname  on  the  road  down,  and  took  up  that  of 
Doubledick.  He  was  passed  as  Richard  Double- 
dick;  age,  twenty- two;  height,  five  foot  ten;  native 
place,  Exmouth,  which  he  had  never  been  near  in 
his  life.  There  was  no  cavalry  in  Chatham  when  he 
165 


l66  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

limped  over  the  bridge  here  with  half  a  shoe  to  his 
dusty  feet,  so  he  enlisted  into  a  regiment  of  the  line, 
and  was  glad  to  get  drunk  and  forget  all  about  it. 

You  are  to  know  that  this  relative  of  mine  had 
gone  wrong,  and  run  wild.  His  heart  was  in  the 
right  place,  but  it  was  sealed  up.  He  had  been 
betrothed  to  a  good  and  beautiful  girl,  whom  he  had 
loved  better  than  she  —  or  perhaps  even  he  —  be- 
lieved; but  in  an  evil  hour  he  had  given  her  cause 
to  say  to  him  solemnly,  "Richard,  I  will  never 
marry  another  man.  I  will  live  single  for  your  sake, 
but  Mary  Marshall's  lips" — her  name  was  Mary 
Marshall  — "  never  address  another  word  to  you  on 
earth.  Go,  Richard!  Heaven  forgive  you!"  This 
finished  him.  This  brought  him  down  to  Chatham. 
This  made  him  Private  Richard  Doubledick,  with  a 
determination  to  be  shot. 

There  was  not  a  more  dissipated  and  reckless 
soldier  in  Chatham  barracks,  in  the  year  one  thou- 
sand seven  hundred  and  ninety-nine,  than  Private 
Richard  Doubledick.  He  associated  with  the  dregs 
of  every  regiment;  he  was  as  seldom  sober  as  he 
could  be,  and  was  constantly  under  punishment.  It 
became  clear  to  the  whole  barracks  that  Private 
Richard  Doubledick  would  very  soon  be  flogged. 

Now  the  Captain  of  Richard  Doubledick's  com- 
pany was  a  young  gentleman  not  above  five  years 
his  senior,  whose  eyes  had  an  expression  in  them 


THE   STORY   OF   RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      167 

which  affected  Private  Richard  Doubledick  in  a 
very  remarkable  way.  They  were  bright,  handsome, ' 
dark  eyes, —  what  are  called  laughing  eyes  generally, 
and,  when  serious,  rather  steady  than  severe, —  but 
they  were  the  only  eyes  now  left  in  his  narrowed 
world  that  Private  Richard  Doubledick  could  not 
stand.  Unabashed  by  evil  report  and  punishment, 
defiant  of  everything  else  and  everybody  else,  he 
had  but  to  know  that  those  eyes  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment,  and  he  felt  ashamed.  He  could  not  so 
much  as  salute  Captain  Taunton  in  the  street  like 
any  other  officer.  He  was  reproached  and  confused, 
—  troubled  by  the  mere  possibility  of  the  Captain's 
looking  at  him.  In  his  worst  moments,  he  would 
rather  turn  back,  and  go  any  distance  out  of  his 
way,  than  encounter  those  two  handsome,  dark, 
bright  eyes. 

One  day,  when  Private  Richard  Doubledick  came 
out  of  the  Black  Hole,  where  he  had  been  passing  the 
last  eight-and-forty  hours,  and  in  which  retreat  he 
spent  a  good  deal  of  his  time,  he  was  ordered  to 
betake  himself  to  Captain  Taunton's  quarters.  In 
the  stale  and  squalid  state  of  a  man  just  out  of  the 
Black  Hole,  he  had  less  fancy  than  ever  for  being 
seen  by  the  Captain;  but  he  was  not  so  mad  yet  as 
to  disobey  orders,  and  consequently  went  up  to  the 
terrace  overlooking  the  parade  ground,  where  the 
officers'  quarters  were;  twisting  and  breaking  in  his 


1 68  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

hand,  as  he  went  along,  a  bit  of  the  straw  that  had 
formed  the  decorative  furniture  of  the  Black  Hole. 

"Come  in!"  cried  the  Captain,  when  he  knocked 
with  his  knuckles  at  the  door.  Private  Richard 
Doubledick  pulled  off  his  cap,  took  a  stride  forward, 
and  felt  very  conscious  that  he  stood  in  the  light  of 
the  dark,  bright  eyes. 

There  was  a  silent  pause.  Private  Richard 
Doubledick  had  put  the  straw  in  his  mouth,  and 
was  gradually  doubling  it  up  into  his  windpipe  and 
choking  himself. 

"Doubledick,"  said  the  Captain,  "do  you  know 
where  you  are  going  to?" 

"To  the  Devil,  Sir?"  faltered  Doubledick. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  Captain.    "And  very  fast." 

Private  Richard  Doubledick  turned  the  straw  of 
the  Black  Hole  in  his  mouth,  and  made  a  miserable 
salute  of  acquiescence. 

"Doubledick,"  said  the  Captain,  "since  I  entered 
his  Majesty's  service,  a  boy  of  seventeen,  I  have 
been  pained  to  see  many  men  of  promise  going  that 
road;  but  I  have  never  been  so  pained  to  see  a  man 
determined  to  make  the  shameful  journey  as  I  have 
been,  ever  since  you  joined  the  regiment,  to  see  you." 

Private  Richard  Doubledick  began  to  find  a  film 
stealing  over  the  floor  at  which  he  looked;  also  to 
find  the  legs  of  the  Captain's  breakfast  table  turning 
crooked,  as  if  he  saw  them  through  water. 


THE   STORY  OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK     169 

"I  am  only  a  common  soldier,  Sir,"  said  he.  "It 
signifies  very  little  what  such  a  poor  brute  comes  to." 

"You  are  a  man,"  returned  the  Captain,  with 
grave  indignation,  "of  education  and  superior  ad- 
vantages; and  if  you  say  that,  meaning  what  you 
say,  you  have  sunk  lower  than  I  had  believed. 
How  low  that  must  be,  I  leave  you  to  consider, 
knowing  what  I  know  of  your  disgrace,  and  seeing 
what  I  see." 

"I  hope  to  get  shot  soon,  Sir,"  said  Private 
Richard  Doubledick;  "and  then  the  regiment  and 
the  world  together  will  be  rid  of  me." 

The  legs  of  the  table  were  becoming  very  crooked. 
Doubledick,  looking  up  to  steady  his  vision,  met  the 
eyes  that  had  so  strong  an  influence  over  him.  He 
put  his  hand  before  his  own  eyes,  and  the  breast  of 
his  disgrace-jacket  swelled  as  if  it  would  fly  asunder. 

"I  would  rather,"  said  the  young  Captain,  "see 
this  in  you,  Doubledick,  than  I  would  see  five 
thousand  guineas  counted  out  upon  this  table  for 
a  gift  to  my  good  mother.  Have  you  a  mother?" 

"I  am  thankful  to  say  she  is  dead,  Sir." 

"If  your  praises,"  returned  the  Captain,  "were 
sounded  from  mouth  to  mouth  through  the  whole 
regiment,  through  the  whole  army,  through  the 
whole  country,  you  would  wish  she  had  lived  to  say, 
with  pride  and  joy,  'He  is  my  son!'" 

"Spare  me,  Sir,"  said  Doubledick,  "she  would 


170  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

never  have  heard  any  good  of  me.  She  would  never 
have  had  any  pride  and  joy  in  owning  herself  my 
mother.  Love  and  compassion  she  might  have  had, 
and  would  have  always  had,  I  know;  but  not  — 
Spare  me,  Sir!  I  am  a  broken  wretch,  quite  at  your 
mercy!"  And  he  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  and 
stretched  out  his  imploring  hand. 

"My  friend "  began  the  Captain. 

"God  bless  you,  Sir!'7  sobbed  Private  Richard 
Doubledick. 

"You  are  at  the  crisis  of  your  fate.  Hold  your 
course  unchanged  a  little  longer,  and  you  know 
what  must  happen.  I  know  even  better  than  you 
can  imagine,  that,  after  that  has  happened,  you  are 
lost.  No  man  who  could  shed  those  tears  could  bear 
those  marks." 

"I  fully  believe  it,  Sir,"  in  a  low,  shivering  voice 
said  Private  Richard  Doubledick. 

"But  a  man  in  any  station  can  do  his  duty,"  said 
the  young  Captain,  "and,  in  doing  it,  can  earn  his 
own  respect,  even  if  his  case  should  be  so  very  unfor- 
tunate and  so  very  rare  that  he  can  earn  no  other 
man's.  A  common  soldier,  poor  brute  though  you 
called  him  just  now,  has  this  advantage  in  the 
stormy  times  we  live  in,  that  he  always  does  his 
duty  before  a  host  of  sympathizing  witnesses.  Do 
you  doubt  that  he  may  so  do  it  as  to  be  extolled 
through  a  whole  regiment,  through  a  whole  army, 


THE   STORY   OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      171 

through  a  whole  country?  Turn  while  you  may  yet 
retrieve  the  past,  and  try." 

"I  will!  I  ask  for  only  one  witness,  Sir,"  cried 
Richard,  with  a  bursting  heart. 

"I  understand  you.  I  will  be  a  watchful  and  a 
faithful  one." 

I  have  heard  from  Private  Richard  Doubledick's 
own  lips,  that  he  dropped  down  upon  his  knee, 
kissed  that  officer's  hand,  arose,  and  went  out  of 
the  light  of  the  dark,  bright  eyes,  an  altered  man. 

In  that  year,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and 
ninety-nine,  the  French  were  in  Egypt,  in  Italy,  in 
Germany,  where  not?  Napoleon  Bonaparte  had 
likewise  begun  to  stir  against  us  in  India,  and  most 
men  could  read  the  signs  of  the  great  troubles  that 
were  coming  on. '  In  the  very  next  year,  when  we 
formed  an  alliance  with  Austria  against  him,  Captain 
Taunton's  regiment  was  on  service  in  India.  And 
there  was  not  a  finer  non-commissioned  officer  in  it, 
—  no,  nor  in  the  whole  line  —  than  Corporal 
Richard  Doubledick. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  one,  the  Indian  army 
were  on  the  coast  of  Egypt.  Next  year  was  the  year 
of  the  proclamation  of  the  short  peace,  and  they 
were  recalled.  It  had  then  become  well  known  to 
thousands  of  men,  that  wherever  Captain  Taunton, 
with  the  dark,  bright  eyes,  led,  there,  close  to  him, 
ever  at  his  side,  firm  as  a  rock,  true  as  the  sun,  and 


172  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

brave  as  Mars,  would  be  certain  to  be  found,  while 
life  beat  in  their  hearts,  that  famous  soldier,  Ser- 
geant Richard  Doubledick. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  five,  besides  being  the 
great  year  of  Trafalgar,  was  a  year  of  hard  fighting 
in  India.  That  year  saw  such  wonders  done  by  a 
Sergeant-Major,  who  cut  his  way  single-handed 
through  a  solid  mass  of  men,  recovered  the  colors 
of  his  regiment,  which  had  been  seized  from  the 
hand  of  a  poor  boy  shot  through  the  heart,  and 
rescued  his  wounded  Captain,  who  was  down,  and 
in  a  very  jungle  of  horses'  hoofs  and  sabres, —  saw 
such  wonders  done,  I  say,  by  this  brave  Sergeant- 
Major,  that  he  was  specially  made  the  bearer  of  the 
colors  he  had  won;  and  Ensign  Richard  Doubledick 
had  risen  from  the  ranks. 

Sorely  cut  up  in  every  battle,  but  always  rein- 
forced by  the  bravest  of  men, —  for  the  fame  of 
following  the  old  colors,  shot  through  and  through, 
which  Ensign  Richard  Doubledick  had  saved, 
inspired  all  breasts, —  this  regiment  fought  its  way 
through  the  Peninsular  war,  up  to  the  investment  of 
Badajos  in  eighteen  hundred  and  twelve.  Again 
and  again  it  had  been  cheered  through  the  British 
ranks  until  the  tears  had  sprung  into  men's  eyes  at 
the  mere  hearing  of  the  mighty  British  voice,  so 
exultant  in  their  valor;  and  there  was  not  a  drum-, 
mer-boy  but  knew  the  legend,  that  wherever  the 


THE   STORY   OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      173 

two  friends,  Major  Taunton,  with  the  dark,  bright 
eyes,  and  Ensign  Richard  Doubledick,  who  was 
devoted  to  him,  were  seen  to  go,  there  the  boldest 
spirits  in  the  English  army  became  wild  to  follow. 

One  day,  at  Badajos, —  not  in  the  great  storming, 
but  in  repelling  a  hot  sally  of  the  besieged  upon  our 
men  at  work  in  the  trenches,  who  had  given  way, — 
the  two  officers  found  themselves  hurrying  forward 
face  to  face,  against  a  party  of  French  infantry,  who 
made  a  stand.  There  was  an  officer  at  their  head, 
encouraging  his  men, —  a  courageous,  handsome, 
gallant  officer,  of  five-and-thirty,  whom  Doubledick 
saw  hurriedly,  almost  momentarily,  but  saw  well. 
He  particularly  noticed  this  officer  waving  his  sword, 
and  rallying  his  men  with  an  eager  and  excited  cry, 
when  they  fired  in  obedience  to  his  gesture,  and 
Major  Taunton  dropped. 

It  was  over  in  ten  minutes  more,  and  Doubledick 
returned  to  the  spot  where  he  had  laid  the  best 
friend  man  ever  had,  on  a  coat  spread  upon  the  wet 
clay.  Major  Taun ton's  uniform  was  opened  at  the 
breast,  and  on  his  shirt  were  three  little  spots  of 
blood. 

"Dear  Doubledick,"  said  he,  "I  am  dying." 

"For  the  love  of  Heaven,  no!"  exclaimed  the 
other,  kneeling  down  beside  him,  and  passing  his 
arm  round  his  neck  to  raise  his  head.  "Taunton! 
My  preserver,  my  guardian  angel,  my  witness! 


174  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

Dearest,  truest,  kindest  of  human  beings!  Taunton! 
For  God's  sake!" 

The  bright,  dark  eyes  —  so  very,  very  dark  now, 
in  the  pale  face  —  smiled  upon  him;  and  the  hand 
he  had  kissed  thirteen  years  ago  laid  itself  fondly 
on  his  breast. 

"Write  to  my  mother.  You  will  see  Home  again. 
Tell  her  how  we  became  friends.  It  will  comfort 
her,  as  it  comforts  me." 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  faintly  signed  for  a  moment 
towards  his  hair  as  it  fluttered  in  the  wind.  The 
Ensign  understood  him.  He  smiled  again  when  he 
saw  that,  and,  gently  turning  his  face  over  on  the 
supporting  arm  as  if  for  rest,  died,  with  his  hand 
upon  the  breast  in  which  he  had  revived  a  soul. 

No  dry  eye  looked  on  Ensign  Richard  Doubledick 
that  melancholy  day.  He  buried  his  friend  on  the 
field,  and  became  a  lone,  bereaved  man.  Beyond 
his  duty  he  appeared  to  have  but  two  remaining 
cares  in  life, —  one,  to  preserve  the  little  packet  of 
hair  he  was  to  give  to  Taun ton's  mother;  the  other, 
to  encounter  that  French  officer  who  had  rallied 
the  men  under  whose  fire  Taunton  fell.  A  new 
legend  now  began  to  circulate  among  our  troops; 
and  it  was,  that  when  he  and  the  French  officer 
came  face  to  face  once  more,  there  would  be  weeping 
in  France. 

The  war  went  on  —  and  through  it  went  the 


THE   STORY  OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      175 

exact  picture  of  the  French  officer  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  bodily  reality  upon  the  other  —  until  the 
battle  of  Toulouse  was  fought.  In  the  returns  sent 
home  appeared  these  words:  "Severely  wounded, 
but  not  dangerously,  Lieutenant  Richard  Double- 
dick." 

At  Midsummer-time,  in  the  year  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  fourteen,  Lieutenant  Richard  Doubledick, 
now  a  browned  soldier,  seven-and-thirty  years  of 
age,  came  home  to  England  invalided.  He  brought 
the  hair  with  him,  near  his  heart.  Many  a  French 
officer  had  he  seen  since  that  day;  many  a  dreadful 
night,  in  searching  with  men  and  lanterns  for  his 
wounded,  had  he  relieved  French  officers  lying 
disabled;  but  the  mental  picture  and  the  reality 
had  never  come  together. 

Though  he  was  weak  and  suffered  pain,  he  lost 
not  an  hour  in  getting  down  to  Frome  in  Somer- 
setshire, where  Taunton's  mother  lived.  In  the 
sweet,  compassionate  words  that  naturally  present 
themselves  to  the  mind  to-night,  "he  was  the  only 
son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was  a  widow." 

It  was  a  Sunday  evening,  and  the  lady  sat  at  her 
quiet  garden- window,  reading  the  Bible;  reading  to 
herself,  in  a  trembling  voice,  that  very  passage  in  it, 
as  I  have  heard  him  tell.  He  heard  the  words: 
"Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee,  arise!" 

He  had  to  pass  the  window;    and  the  bright. 


176  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

dark  eyes  of  his  debased  time  seemed  to  look  at  him. 
Her  heart  told  her  who  he  was;  she  came  to  the 
door  quickly,  and  fell  upon  his  neck. 

"He  saved  me  from  ruin,  made  me  a  human 
creature,  won  me  from  infamy  and  shame.  O,  God 
forever  bless  him!  As  He  will,  He  will!" 

"He  will!"  the  lady  answered.  "I  know  he  is  in 
Heaven!"  Then  she  piteously  cried,  "But  O,  my 
darling  boy,  my  darling  boy!" 

Never  from  the  hour  when  Private  Richard 
Doubledick  enlisted  at  Chatham  had  the  Private, 
Corporal,  Sergeant,  Sergeant-Major,  Ensign,  or 
Lieutenant  breathed  his  right  name,  or  the  name  of 
Mary  Marshall,  or  a  word  of  the  story  of  his  life, 
into  any  ear  except  his  reclaimer's.  That  previous 
scene  in  his  existence  was  closed.  He  had  firmly 
resolved  that  his  expiation  should  be  to  live  un- 
known ;  to  disturb  no  more  the  peace  that  had  long 
grown  over  his  old  offences;  to  let  it  be  revealed 
when  he  was  dead,  that  he  had  striven  and  suffered, 
and  had  never  forgotten;  and  then,  if  they  could 
forgive  him  and  believe  him  —  well,  it  would  be 
time  enough  —  time  enough! 

But  that  night,  remembering  the  words  he  had 
cherished  for  two  years,  "Tell  her  how  we  became 
friends.  It  will  comfort  her,  as  it  comforts  me,"  he 
related  everything.  It  gradually  seemed  to  him  as 
if  in  his  maturity  he  had  recovered  a  mother;  it 


THE   STORY   OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      177 

gradually  seemed  to  her  as  if  in  her  bereavement 
she  had  found  a  son.  During  his  stay  in  England, 
the  quiet  garden  into  which  he  had  slowly  and  pain- 
fully crept,  a  stranger,  became  the  boundary  of  his 
home;  when  he  was  able  to  rejoin  his  regiment  in 
the  spring,  he  left  the  garden,  thinking  was  this 
indeed  the  first  time  he  had  ever  turned  his  face 
towards  the  old  colors  with  a  woman's  blessing! 

He  followed  them  —  so  ragged,  so  scarred  and 
pierced  now,  that  they  would  scarcely  hold  together 
—  to  Quatre  Bras  and  Ligny.  He  stood  beside 
them,  in  an  awful  stillness  of  many  men,  shadowy 
through  the  mist  and  drizzle  of  a  wet  June  forenoon, 
on  the  field  of  Waterloo.  And  down  to  that  hour 
the  picture  in  his  mind  of  the  French  officer  had 
never  been  compared  with  the  reality. 

The  famous  regiment  was  in  action  early  in  the 
battle,  and  received  its  first  check  in  many  an 
eventful  year,  when  he  was  seen  to  fall.  But  it 
swept  on  to  avenge  him,  and  left  behind  it  no  such 
creature  in  the  world  of  consciousness  as  Lieutenant 
Richard  Doubledick. 

Through  pits  of  mire,  and  pools  of  rain;  along 
deep  ditches,  once  roads,  that  were  pounded  and 
ploughed  to  pieces  by  artillery,  heavy  wagons, 
tramp  of  men  and  horses,  and  the  struggle  of  every 
wheeled  thing  that  could  carry  wounded  soldiers; 
jolted  among  the  dying  and  the  dead,  so  disfigured 


178  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

by  blood  and  mud  as  to  be  hardly  recognizable  for 
humanity;  undisturbed  by  the  moaning  of  men  and 
the  shrieking  of  horses,  which,  newly  taken  from  the 
peaceful  pursuits  of  life,  could  not  endure  the  sight 
of  the  stragglers  lying  by  the  wayside,  never  to 
resume  their  toilsome  journey;  dead,  as  to  any 
sentient  life  that  was  in  it,  and  yet  alive, —  the  form 
that  had  been  Lieutenant  Richard  Doubledick,  with 
whose  praises  England  rang,  was  conveyed  to 
Brussels.  There  it  was  tenderly  laid  down  in  hos- 
pital; and  there  it  lay,  week  after  week,  through  the 
long  bright  summer  days,  until  the  harvest,  spared 
by  war,  had  ripened  and  was  gathered  in. 

Over  and  over  again  the  sun  rose  and  set  upon  the 
crowded  city;  over  and  over  again  the  moonlight 
nights  were  quiet  on  the  plains  of  Waterloo:  and  all 
that  time  was  a  blank  to  what  had  been  Lieutenant 
Richard  Doubledick.  Rejoicing  troops  marched 
into  Brussels,  and  marched  out;  brothers  and 
fathers,  sisters,  mothers,  and  wives,  came  thronging 
thither,  drew  their  lots  of  joy  or  agony,  and  de- 
parted; so  many  times  a  day  the  bells  rang:  so 
many  times  the  shadows  of  the  great  buildings 
changed;  so  many  lights  sprang  up  at  dusk;  so 
many  feet  passed  here  and  there  upon  the  pave- 
ments; so  many  hours  of  sleep  and  cooler  air  of 
night  succeeded:  indifferent  to  all,  a  marble  face 
lay  on  a  bed,  like  the  face  of  a  recumbent  statue  on 
the  tomb  of  Lieutenant  Richard  Doubledick. 


THE    STORY   OF  RICHARD    DOUBLEDICK 


179 


Slowly  laboring,  at  last,  through  a  long  heavy 
dream  of  confused  time  and  place,  presenting  faint 
glimpses  of  army  surgeons  whom  he  knew,  and  of 
faces  that  had  been  familiar  to  his  youth, —  dearest 
and  kindest  among  them,  Mary  Marshall's,  with  a 
solicitude  upon  it  more  like  reality  than  anything 
he  could  discern, —  Lieutenant  Richard  Doubledick 
came  back  to  life.  To  the  beautiful  life  of  a  calm 
autumn  evening  sunset,  to  the  peaceful  life  of  a 
fresh  quiet  room  with  a  large  window  standing  open ; 
a  balcony  beyond,  in  which  were  moving  leaves  and 
sweet-smelling  flowers;  beyond,  again,  the  clear 
sky,  with  the  sun  full  in  his  sight,  pouring  its  golden 
radiance  on  his  bed. 

It  was  so  tranquil  and  so  lovely  that  he  thought 
he  had  passed  into  another  world.  And  he  said  in  a 
faint  voice,  "Taunton,  are  you  near  me?" 

A  face  bent  over  him.     Not  his,  his  mother's. 

"I  came  to  nurse  you.  We  have  nursed  you 
many  weeks.  You  were  moved  here  long  ago.  Do 
you  remember  nothing?" 

"Nothing." 

The  lady  kissed  his  cheek,  and  held  his  hand, 
soothing  him. 

"Where  is  .the  regiment?  What  has  happened? 
Let  me  call  you  mother.  What  has  happened, 
mother?" 

"  A  great  victory,  dear.  The  war  is  over,  and  the 
regiment  was  the  bravest  in  the  field." 


!8o  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

His  eyes  kindled,  his  lips  trembled,  he  sobbed,  and 
the  tears  ran  down  his  face.  He  was  very  weak,  too 
weak  to  move  his  hand. 

"Was  it  dark  just  now?"  he  asked  presently. 

"No." 

"It  was  only  dark  to  me.  Something  passed 
away,  like  a  black  shadow.  But  as  it  went,  and  the 
sun  —  O  the  blessed  sun,  how  beautiful  it  is! — 
touched  my  face,  I  thought  I  saw  a  light  white 
cloud  pass  out  at  the  door.  Was  there  nothing  that 
went  out?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  in  a  little  while  he  fell 
asleep,  she  still  holding  his  hand,  and  soothing  him. 

From  that  time,  he  recovered.  Slowly,  for  he  had 
been  desperately  wounded  in  the  head,  and  had 
been  shot  in  the  body,  but  making  some  little  ad- 
vance every  day.  When  he  had  gained  sufficient 
strength  to  converse  as  he  lay  in  bed,  he  soon  began 
to  remark  that  Mrs.  Taunton  always  brought  him 
back  to  his  own  history.  Then  he  recalled  his 
preserver's  dying  words,  and  thought,  "It  comforts 
her." 

One  day  he  awoke  out  of  a  sleep,  refreshed,  and 
asked  her  to  read  to  him.  But  the  curtain  of  the 
bed,  softening  the  light,  which  she  always  drew 
back  when  he  awoke,  that  she  might  see  him  from 
her  table  at  the  bedside  where  she  sat  at  work,  was 
held  undrawn;  and  a  woman's  voice  spoke,  which 
was  not  hers. 


THE   STORY   OF   RICHARD    DOUBLEDICK      181 

"Can  you  bear  to  see  a  stranger?"  it  said  softly. 
"Will  you  like  to  see  a  stranger?" 

"Stranger!"  he  repeated.  The  voice  awoke  old 
memories,  before  the  days  of  Private  Richard 
Doubledick. 

"A  stranger  now,  but  not  a  stranger  once,"  it 
said  in  tones  that  thrilled  him.  "Richard,  dear 
Richard,  lost  through  so  many  years,  my  name  — 

He  cried  out  her  name,  "Mary,"  and  she  held 
him  in  her  arms,  and  his  head  lay  on  her  bosom. 

"I  am  not  breaking  a  rash  vow,  Richard.  These 
are  not  Mary  Marshall's  lips  that  speak.  I  have 
another  name." 

She  was  married. 

"I  have  another  name,  Richard.  Did  you  ever 
hear  it?" 

"Never!" 

He  looked  into  her  face,  so  pensively  beautiful, 
and  wondered  at  the  smile  upon  it  through  her  tears. 

"Think  again,  Richard.  Are  you  sure  you  never 
heard  my  altered  name?" 

"Never!" 

"Don't  move  your  head  to  look  at  me,  dear 
Richard.  Let  it  lie  here,  while  I  tell  my  story.  I 
loved  a  generous,  noble  man;  loved  him  with  my 
whole  heart;  loved  him  for  years  and  years;  loved 
him  faithfully,  devotedly;  loved  him  with  no  hope 
of  return;  loved  him,  knowing  nothing  of  his  highest 


182  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

qualities  —  not  even  knowing  that  he  was  alive. 
He  was  a  brave  soldier.  He  was  honored  and 
beloved  by  thousands  of  thousands,  when  the  mother 
of  his  dear  friend  found  me,  and  showed  me  that  in 
all  his  triumphs  he  had  never  forgotten  me.  He  was 
wounded  in  a  great  battle.  He  was  brought,  dying, 
here  to  Brussels.  I  came  to  watch  and  tend  him, 
as  I  would  have  joyfully  gone  with  such  a  purpose, 
to  the  dreariest  ends  of  the  earth.  When  he  knew 
no  one  else,  he  knew  me.  When  he  suffered  most, 
he  bore  his  sufferings  barely  murmuring,  content 
to  rest  his  head  where  yours  rests  now.  When  he 
lay  at  the  point  of  death  he  married  me,  that  he 
might  call  me  Wife  before  he  died.  And  the  name, 
my  dear  love,  that  I  took  on  that  forgotten  night  — " 

"I  know  it  now!"  he  sobbed.  "The  shadowy 
remembrance  strengthens.  It  is  come  back.  I 
thank  Heaven  that  my  mind  is  quite  restored !  My 
Mary,  kiss  me;  lull  this  weary  head  to  rest,  or  I 
shall  die  of  gratitude.  His  parting  words  were  ful- 
filled. I  see  Home  again!" 

Well!  they  were  happy.  It  was  a  long  recovery, 
but  they  were  happy  through  it  all.  The  snow  had 
melted  on  the  ground,  and  the  birds  were  singing  in 
the  leafless  thickets  of  the  early  spring,  when  those 
three  were  first  able  to  ride  out  together,  and  when 
people  flocked  about  the  open  carriage  to  cheer  and 
congratulate  Captain  Richard  Doubledick. 


THE   STORY   OF   RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      183 

But  even  then  it  became  necessary  for  the  Cap- 
tain, instead  of  returning  to  England,  to  complete 
his  recovery  in  the  climate  of  Southern  France. 
They  found  a  spot  upon  the  Rhone,  within  a  ride  of 
the  old  town  of  Avignon,  and  within  view  of  its 
broken  bridge,  which  was  all  they  could  desire; 
they  lived  there,  together,  six  months;  then  returned 
to  England.  Mrs.  Taunton,  growing  old  after  three 
years  —  though  not  so  old  as  that  her  bright,  dark 
eyes  were  dimmed  —  and  remembering  that  her 
strength  had  been  benefited  by  the  change,  resolved 
to  go  back  for  a  year  to  those  parts.  So  she  went 
with  a  faithful  servant,  who  had  often  carried  her 
son  in  his  arms;  and  she  was  to  be  rejoined  and 
escorted  home,  at  the  year's  end,  by  Captain 
Richard  Doubledick. 

She  wrote  regularly  to  her  children  (as  she  called 
them  now),  and  they  to  her.  She  went  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Aix;  and  there,  in  their  own 
chateau  near  the  farmer's  house  she  rented,  she 
grew  into  intimacy  with  a  family  belonging  to  that 
part  of  France.  The  intimacy  began  in  her  often 
meeting  among  the  vineyards  a  pretty  child,  a  girl 
with  a  most  compassionate  heart,  who  was  never 
tired  of  listening  to  the  solitary  English  lady's  stories 
of  her  poor  son  and  the  cruel  wars.  The  family  were 
as  gentle  as  the  child,  and  at  length  she  came  to 
know  them  so  well  that  she  accepted  their  invita- 


184  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

tion  to  pass  the  last  month  of  her  residence  abroad 
under  their  roof.  All  this  intelligence  she  wrote 
home,  piecemeal  as  it  came  about,  from  time  to 
time;  and  at  last  enclosed  a  polite  note,  from  the 
head  of  the  chateau,  soliciting,  on  the  occasion  of 
his  approaching  mission  to  that  neighborhood,  the 
honor  of  the  company  of  cet  homme  si  justement 
celebre,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Richard  Doubledick. 

Captain  Doubledick,  now  a  hardy,  handsome  man 
in  the  full  vigor  of  life,  broader  across  the  chest  and 
shoulders  than  he  -had  ever  been  before,  dispatched 
a  courteous  reply,  and  followed  it  in  person.  Travel- 
ling through  all  that  extent  of  country  after  three 
years  of  Peace,  he  blessed  the  better  days  on  which 
the  world  had  fallen.  The  corn  was  golden,  not 
drenched  in  unnatural  red;  was  bound  in  sheaves 
for  food,  not  trodden  underfoot  by  men  in  mortal 
fight.  The  smoke  rose  up  from  peaceful  hearths, 
not  blazing  ruins.  The  carts  were  laden  with  the 
fair  fruits  of  the  earth,  not  with  wounds  and  death. 
To  him  who  had  so  often  seen  the  terrible  reverse, 
these  things  were  beautiful  indeed;  and  they 
brought  him  in  a  softened  spirit  to  the  old  chateau 
near  Aix  upon  a  deep  blue  evening. 

It  was  a  large  chateau  of  the  genuine  old  ghostly 
kind,  with  round  towers,  and  extinguishers,  and  a 
high  leaden  roof,  and  more  windows  than  Aladdin's 
Palace.  The  lattice  blinds  were  all  thrown  open 


THE   STORY   OF   RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      185 

after  the  heat  of  the  day,  and  there  were  glimpses 
of  rambling  walls  and  corridors  within.  Then  there 
were  immense  out-buildings  fallen  into  partial 
decay,  masses  of  dark  trees,  terrace-gardens, 
balustrades;  tanks  of  water,  too  weak  to  play  and 
too  dirty  to  work;  statues,  weeds,  and  thickets  of 
iron  railing  that  seemed  to  have  overgrown  them- 
selves like  the  shrubberies,  and  to  have  branched 
out  in  all  manner  of  wild  shapes.  The  entrance 
doors  stood  open,  as  doors  often  do  in  that  country 
when  the  heat  of  the  day  is  past;  and  the  Captain 
saw  no  bell  or  knocker,  and  walked  in. 

He  walked  into  a  lofty  stone  hall,  refreshingly  cool 
and  gloomy  after  the  glare  of  a  Southern  day's 
travel.  Extending  along  the  four  sides  of  this  hall 
was  a  gallery,  leading  to  suites  of  rooms;  and  it  was 
lighted  from  the  top.  Still  no  bell  was  to  be  seen. 

"  Faith,"  said  the  Captain  halting,  ashamed  of 
the  clanking  of  his  boots,  "this  is  a  ghostly  be- 
ginning!" 

He  started  back,  and  felt  his  face  turn  white.  In 
the  gallery,  looking  down  at  him,  stood  the  French 
officer  —  the  officer  whose  picture  he  had  carried 
in  his  mind  so  long  and  so  far.  Compared  with  the 
original,  at  last  —  in  every  lineament  how  like  it 
was! 

He  moved  and  disappeared,  and  Captain  Richard 
Doubledick  heard  his  steps  coming  quickly  down 


1 86  BEST   ENGLISH   [TALES 

into  the  hall.  He  entered  through  an  archway. 
There  was  a  bright,  sudden  look  upon  his  face,  much 
such  a  look  as  it  had  worn  in  that  fatal  moment. 

Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Richard  Doubledick? 
Enchanted  to  receive  him!  A  thousand  apologies! 
The  servants  were  all  out  in  the  air.  There  was  a 
little  fete  among  them  in  the  garden.  In  effect,  it 
was  the  fete  day  of  my  daughter,  the  little  cherished 
and  protected  of  Madame  Taunton. 

He  was  so  gracious  and  so  frank  that  Monsieur 
le  Capitaine  Richard  Doubledick  could  not  with- 
hold his  hand.  "It  is  the  hand  of  a  brave  English- 
man," said  the  French  officer,  retaining  it  while  he 
spoke.  "I  could  respect  a  brave  Englishman,  even 
as  my  foe,  how  much  more  as  my  friend !  I  also  am  a 
soldier." 

"He  has  not  remembered  me,  as  I  have  remem- 
bered him;  he  did  not  take  such  note  of  my  face, 
that  day,  as  I  took  of  his,"  thought  Captain  Richard 
Doubledick.  "How  shall  I  tell  him?" 

The  French  officer  conducted  his  guest  into  a 
garden  and  presented  him  to  his  wife,  an  engaging 
and  beautiful  woman,  sitting  with  Mrs.  Taunton 
in  a  whimsical  old-fashioned  pavilion.  His  daughter, 
her  fair  young  face  beaming  with  joy,  came  running 
to  embrace  him;  and  there  was  a  boy-baby  to 
tumble  down  among  the  orange  trees  on  the  broad 
steps,  in  making  for  his  father's  legs.  A  multitude 


THE   STORY  OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      187 

of  children  visitors  were  dancing  to  sprightly  music; 
and  all  the  servants  and  peasants  about  the  chateau 
were  dancing  too.  It  was  a  scene  of  innocent  happi- 
ness that  might  have  been  invented  for  the  climax 
of  the  scenes  of  peace  which  had  soothed  the  Cap- 
tain's journey. 

He  looked  on,  greatly  troubled  in  his  mind,  until 
a  resounding  bell  rang,  and  the  French  officer  begged 
to  show  him  his  rooms.  They  went  upstairs  into  the 
gallery  from  which  the  officer  had  looked  down; 
and  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Richard  Doubledick  was 
cordially  welcomed  to  a  grand  outer  chamber,  and  a 
smaller  one  within,  all  clocks  and  draperies,  and 
hearths,  and  brazen  dogs,  and  tiles,  and  cool  devices, 
and  elegance,  and  vastness. 

"You  were  at  Waterloo,"  said  the  French  officer. 

"I  was,"  said  Captain  Richard  Doubledick. 
"And  at  Badajos." 

Left  alone  with  the  sound  of  his  own  stern  voice 
in  his  ears,  he  sat  down  to  consider,  What  shall  I  do, 
and  how  shall  I  tell  him.  At  that  time,  unhappily, 
many  deplorable  duels  had  been  fought  between 
English  and  French  officers,  arising  out  of  the  recent 
war;  and  these  duels,  and  how  to  avoid  this  officer's 
hospitality,  were  the  uppermost  thought  in  Captain 
Richard  Doubleclick's  mind. 

He  was  thinking,  and  letting  the  time  run  out  in 
which  he  should  have  dressed  for  dinner,  when  Mrs. 


1 88  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Taunton  spoke  to  him  outside  the  door,  asking  if  he 
could  give  her  the  letter  he  had  brought  from  Mary. 
''His  mother,  above  all,"  the  Captain  thought. 
"  How  shall  I  tell  her?" 

"You  will  form  a  friendship  with  your  host,  I 
hope,"  said  Mrs.  Taunton,  whom  he  hurriedly  ad- 
mitted, "  that  will  last  for  life.  He  is  so  true-hearted 
and  so  generous,  Richard,  that  you  can  hardly  fail 
to  esteem  one  another.  If  He  had  been  spared," 
she  kissed  (not  without  tears)  the  locket  in  which  she 
wore  his  hair,  "he  would  have  appreciated  him  with 
his  own  magnanimity,  and  would  have  been  truly 
happy  that  the  evil  days  were  past  which  made  such 
a  man  his  enemy." 

She  left  the  room;  and  the  Captain  walked,  first 
to  one  window,  whence  he  could  see  the  dancing  in 
the  garden,  then  to  another  window,  whence  he 
could  see  the  smiling  prospect  and  the  peaceful  vine- 
yards. 

"Spirit  of  my  departed  friend,"  said  he,  "is  it 
through  thee  these  better  thoughts  are  rising  in  my 
mind?  Is  it  thou  who  hast  shown  me,  all  the  way 
I  have  been  drawn  to  meet  this  man,  the  blessings  of 
the  altered  time?  Is  it  thou  who  has  sent  thy 
stricken  mother  to  me,  to  stay  my  angry  hand? 
Is  it  from  thee  the  whisper  comes,  that  this  man 
did  his  duty  as  thou  didst, —  and  as  I  did,  through 
thy  guidance,  which  has  wholly  saved  me  here  on 
earth,—  and  that  he  did  no  more?" 


THE   STORY  OF  RICHARD   DOUBLEDICK      189 

He  sat  down  with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands, 
and,  when  he  rose  up,  made  the  second  strong  reso- 
lution of  his  life, —  that  neither  to  the  French 
officer,  nor  to  the  mother  of  his  departed  friend,  nor 
to  any  soul,  while  either  of  the  two  was  living, 
would  he  breathe  what  only  he  knew.  And  when  he 
touched  that  French  officer's  glass  with  his  own, 
that  day  at  dinner,  he  secretly  forgave  him  in  the 
name  of  the  Divine  Forgiver  of  injuries. 


THE  HALF-BROTHERS 
BY  MRS.  GASKELL 


THE  HALF-BROTHERS 

MY  mother  was  twice  married.  She  never  spoke 
of  her  first  husband,  and  it  is  only  from  other  people 
that  I  have  learnt  what  little  I  know  about  him.  I 
believe  she  was  scarcely  seventeen  when  she  was 
married  to  him:  and  he  was  barely  one-and-twenty. 
He  rented  a  small  farm  up  in  Cumberland,  some- 
where towards  the  sea-coast;  but  he  was  perhaps 
too  young  and  inexperienced  to  have  the  charge  of 
land  and  cattle:  anyhow,  his  affairs  did  not  prosper, 
and  he  fell  into  ill  health,  and  died  of  consumption 
before  they  had  been  three  years  man  and  wife, 
leaving  my  mother,  a  young  widow  of  twenty,  with 
a  little  child  only  just  able  to  walk,  and  the  farm  on 
her  hands  for  four  years  more  by  the  lease,  with 
half  the  stock  on  it  dead,  or  sold  off  one  by  one  to 
pay  the  more  pressing  debts,  and  with  no  money  to 
purchase  more,  or  even  to  buy  the  provisions  needed 
for  the  small  consumption  of  every  day.  There  was 
another  child  coming,  too;  and  sad  and  sorry,  I 
believe,  she  was  to  think  of  it.  A  dreary  winter  she 
must  have  had  in  her  lonesome  dwelling  with  never 
another  near  it  for  miles  around;  her  sister  came  to 
bear  her  company,  and  they  two  planned  and  plotted 
how  to  make  every  penny  they  could  raise  go  as  far 
193 


194  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

as  possible.  I  can't  tell  you  how  it  happened  that 
my  little  sister,  whom  I  never  saw,  came  to  sicken 
and  die;  but,  as  if  my  poor  mother's  cup  was  not 
full  enough,  only  a  fortnight  before  Gregory  was 
born  the  little  girl  took  ill  of  scarlet  fever,  and  in  a 
week  she  lay  dead.  My  mother  was,  I  believe,  just 
stunned  with  this  last  blow.  My  aunt  has  told  me 
that  she  did  not  cry;  aunt  Fanny  would  have  been 
thankful  if  she  had;  but  she  sat  holding  the  poor 
wee  lassie's  hand,  and  looking  in  her  pretty,  pale, 
dead  face,  without  so  much  as  shedding  a  tear.  And 
it  was  all  the  same,  when  they  had  to  take  her  away 
to  be  buried.  She  just  kissed  the  child,  and  sat  her 
down  in  the  window-seat  to  watch  the  little  black 
train  of  people  (neighbors  —  my  aunt,  and  one  far- 
off  cousin,  who  were  all  the  friends  they  could 
muster)  go  winding  away  amongst  the  snow,  which 
had  fallen  thinly  over  the  country  the  night  before. 
When  my  aunt  came  back  from  the  funeral,  she 
found  my  mother  in  the  same  place,  and  as  dry-eyed 
as  ever.  So  she  continued  until  after  Gregory  was 
born;  and,  somehow,  his  coming  seemed  to  loosen 
the  tears,  and  she  cried  day  and  night,  till  my  aunt 
and  the  other  watcher  looked  at  each  other  in  dis- 
may, and  would  fain  have  stopped  her  if  they  had 
but  known  how.  But  she  bade  them  let  her  alone, 
and  not  be  over-anxious,  for  every  drop  she  shed 
eased  her  brain,  which  had  been  in  a  terrible  state 


THE    HALF-BROTHERS  195 

before  for  want  of  the  power  to  cry.  She  seemed 
after  that  to  think  of  nothing  but  her  new  little 
baby;  she  had  hardly  appeared  to  remember  either 
her  husband  or  her  little  daughter  that  lay  dead  in 
Brigham  churchyard  —  at  least  so  aunt  Fanny  said; 
but  she  was  a  great  talker,  and  my  mother  was  very 
silent  by  nature,  and  I  think  aunt  Fanny  may  have 
been  mistaken  in  believing  that  my  mother  never 
thought  of  her  husband  and  child  just  because  she 
never  spoke  about  them.  Aunt  Fanny  was  older 
than  my  mother,  and  had  a  way  of  treating  her  like 
a  child;  but,  for  all  that,  she  was  a  kind,  warm- 
hearted creature,  who  thought  more  of  her  sister's 
welfare  than  she  did  of  her  own;  and  it  was  on  her 
bit  of  money  that  they  principally  lived,  and  on 
what  the  two  could  earn  by  working  for  the  great 
Glasgow  sewing-merchants.  But  by-and-by  my 
mother's  eyesight  began  to  fail.  It  was  not  that  she 
was  exactly  blind,  for  she  could  see  well  enough  to 
guide  herself  about  the  house,  and  to  do  a  good  deal 
of  domestic  work;  but  she  could  no  longer  do  fine 
sewing  and  earn  money.  It  must  have  been  with 
the  heavy  crying  she  had  had  in  her  day,  for  she  was 
but  a  young  creature  at  this  time,  and  as  pretty  a 
young  woman,  I  have  heard  people  say,  as  any  on 
the  country  side.  She  took  it  sadly  to  heart  that 
she  could  no  longer  gain  anything  towards  the  keep 
of  herself  and  her  child.  My  aunt  Fanny  would  fain 


196  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

have  persuaded  her  that  she  had  enough  to  do  in 
managing  their  cottage  and  minding  Gregory;  but 
my  mother  knew  that  they  were  pinched,  and  that 
aunt  Fanny  herself  had  not  as  much  to  eat,  even  of 
the  commonest  kind  of  food,  as  she  could  have  done 
with;  and  as  for  Greogry,  he  was  not  a  strong  lad 
and  needed,  not  more  food  —  for  he  always  had 
enough,  whoever  went  short  —  but  better  nourish- 
ment, and  more  flesh  meat.  One  day  —  it  was  aunt 
Fanny  who  told  me  all  this  about  my  poor  mother, 
long  after  her  death  —  as  the  sisters  were  sitting 
together,  aunt  Fanny  working,  and  my  mother 
hushing  Gregory  to  sleep,  William  Preston,  who  was 
afterwards  my  father,  came  in.  He  was  reckoned 
an  old  bachelor;  I  suppose  he  was  long  past  forty, 
and  he  was  one  of  the  wealthiest  farmers  there- 
abouts, and  had  known  my  grandfather  well,  and 
my  mother  and  my  aunt  in  their  more  prosperous 
days.  He  sat  down,  and  began  to  twirl  his  hat  by 
way  of  being  agreeable;  my  aunt  Fanny  talked,  and 
he  listened  and  looked  at  my  mother.  But  he  said 
very  little,  either  on  that  visit,  or  on  many  another 
that  he  paid  before  he  spoke  out  what  had  been  the 
real  purpose  of  his  calling  so  often  all  along,  and 
from  the  very  first  time  he  came  to  their  house.  One 
Sunday,  however,  my  aunt  Fanny  stayed  away  from 
church,  and  took  care  of  the  child,  and  my  mother 
went  alone.  When  she  came  back,  she  ran  straight 


THE    HALF-BROTHERS  197 

upstairs,  without  going  into  the  kitchen  to  look  at 
Gregory  or  speak  any  word  to  her  sister,  and  aunt 
Fanny  heard  her  cry  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking; 
so  she  went  up  and  scolded  her  right  well  through 
the  bolted  door,  till  at  last  she  got  her  to  open  it. 
And  then  she  threw  herself  on  my  aunt's  neck,  and 
told  her  that  William  Preston  had  asked  her  to 
marry  him,  and  had  promised  to  take  good  charge  of 
her  boy,  and  to  let  him  want  for  nothing,  neither  in 
the  way  of  keep  nor  of  education,  and  that  she  had 
consented.  Aunt  Fanny  was  a  good  deal  shocked  at 
this;  for  as  I  have  said,  she  had  often  thought  that 
my  mother  had  forgotten  her  first  husband  very 
quickly,  and  now  here  was  proof  positive  of  it,  if  she 
could  so  soon  think  of  marrying  again.  Besides,  as 
aunt  Fanny  used  to  say,  she  herself  would  have  been 
a  far  more  suitable  match  for  a  man  of  William 
Preston's  age  than  Helen,  who,  though  she  was  a 
widow,  had  not  seen  her  four-and-twentieth  summer. 
However,  as  aunt  Fanny  said,  they  had  not  asked 
her  advice;  and  there  was  much  to  be  said  on  the 
other  side  of  the  question.  Helen's  eyesight  would 
never  be  good  for  much  again,  and  as  William 
Preston's  wife  she  would  never  need  to  do  anything, 
if  she  chose  to  sit  with  her  hands  before  her;  and  a 
boy  was  a  great  charge  to  a  widowed  mother;  and 
now  there  would  be  a  decent  steady  man  to  see  after 
him.  So,  by-and-by,  aunt  Fanny  seemed  to  take  a 


198  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

brighter  view  of  the  marriage  than  did  my  mother 
herself,  who  hardly  ever  looked  up,  and  never  smiled 
after  the  day  when  she  promised  William  Preston  to 
be  his  wife.  But  much  as  she  had  loved  Gregory 
before,  she  seemed  to  love  him  more  now.  She  was 
continually  talking  to  him  when  they  were  alone, 
though  he  was  far  too  young  to  understand  her 
moaning  words,  or  give  her  any  comfort,  except  by 
his  caresses. 

At  last  William  Preston  and  she  were  wed;  and 
she  went  to  be  mistress  of  a  well-stocked  house,  not 
above  half-an-hour's  walk  from  where  aunt  Fanny 
lived.  I  believe  she  did  all  that  she  could  to  please 
my  father;  and  a  more  dutiful  wife,  I  have  heard 
him  himself  say,  could  never  have  been.  But  she 
did  not  love  him,  and  he  soon  found  it  out.  She 
loved  Gregory,  and  she  did  not  love  him.  Perhaps, 
love  would  have  come  in  time,  if  he  had  been 
patient  enough  to  wait;  but  it  just  turned  him  sour 
to  see  how  her  eye  brightened  and  her  color  came  at 
the  sight  of  that  little  child,  while  for  him  who  had 
given  her  so  much  she  had  only  gentle  words  as  cold 
as  ice.  He  got  to  taunt  her  with  the  difference  in 
her  manner,  as  if  that  would  bring  love:  and  he 
took  a  positive  dislike  to  Gregory, —  he  was  so 
jealous  of  the  ready  love  that  always  gushed  out  like 
a  spring  of  fresh  water  when  he  came  near.  He 
wanted  her  to  love  him  more,  and  perhaps  that  was 


THE   HALF-BROTHERS  199 

all  well  and  good;  but  he  wanted  her  to  love  her 
childless,  and  that  was  an  evil  wish.  One  day,  he 
gave  way  to  his  temper,  and  cursed  and  swore  at 
Gregory,  who  had  got  into  some  mischief,  as  children 
will;  my  mother  made  some  excuse  for  him;  my 
father  said  it  was  hard  enough  to  have  to  keep 
another  man's  child,  without  having  it  perpetually 
held  up  in  its  naughtiness  by  his  wife,  who  ought  to 
be  always  in  the  same  mind  as  he  was;  and  so  from 
little  they  got  to  more;  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that 
my  mother  took  to  her  bed  before  her  time,  and  I 
was  born  that  very  day.  My  father  was  glad,  and 
proud,  and  sorry,  all  in  a  breath;  glad  and  proud 
that  a  son  was  born  to  him;  and  sorry  for  his  poor 
wife's  state,  and  to  think  how  his  angry  words  had 
brought  it  on.  But  he  was  a  man  who  liked  better 
to  be  angry  than  sorry,  so  he  soon  found  out  that  it 
was  all  Gregory's  fault,  and  owed  him  an  additional 
grudge  for  having  hastened  my  birth.  He  had 
another  grudge  against  him  before  long.  My 
mother  began  to  sink  the  day  after  I  was  born.  My 
fathei  sent  to  Carlisle  for  doctors,  and  would  have 
coined  his  heart's  blood  into  gold  to  save  her,  if  that 
could  have  been ;  but  it  could  not.  My  aunt  Fanny 
used  to  say  sometimes,  that  she  thought  that  Helen 
did  not  wish  to  live,  and  so  just  let  herself  die  away 
without  trying  to  take  hold  on  life;  but  when  I 
questioned  her,  she  owned  that  my  mother  did  all 


200  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

the  doctors  bade  her  do,  with  the  same  sort  of  un- 
complaining patience  with  which  she  had  acted 
through  life.  One  of  her  last  requests  was  to  have 
Gregory  laid  in  her  bed  by  my  side,  and  then  she 
made  him  take  hold  of  my  little  hand.  Her  husband 
came  in  while  she  was  looking  at  us  so,  and  when  he 
bent  tenderly  over  her  to  ask  her  how  she  felt  now, 
and  seemed  to  gaze  on  us  two  little  half-brothers, 
with  a  grave  sort  of  kindliness,  she  looked  up  in  his 
face  and  smiled,  almost  her  first  smile  at  him;  and 
such  a  sweet  smile!  as  more  besides  aunt  Fanny 
have  said.  In  an  hour  she  was  dead.  Aunt  Fanny 
came  to  live  with  us.  It  was  the  best  thing  that 
could  be  done.  My  father  would  have  been  glad  to 
return  to  his  old  mode  of  bachelor  life,  but  what 
could  he  do  with  two  little  children?  He  needed  a 
woman  to  take  care  of  him,  and  who  so  fitting  as  his 
wife's  elder  sister?  So  she  had  the  charge  of  me 
from  my  birth;  and  for  a  time  I  was  weakly,  as  was 
but  natural,  and  she  was  always  beside  me,  night 
and  day  watching  over  me,  and  my  father  nearly  as 
anxious  as  she.  For  his  land  had  come  down  from 
father  to  son  for  more  than  three  hundred  years,  and 
he  would  have  cared  for  me  merely  as  his  flesh  and 
blood  that  was  to  inherit  the  land  after  him.  But  he 
needed  something  to  love,  for  all  that,  to  most 
people,  he  was  a  stern,  hard  man,  and  he  took  to  me 
as,  I  fancy,  he  had  taken  to  no  human  being  before 


THE    HALF-BROTHERS  2OI 

• —  as  he  might  have  taken  to  my  mother,  if  she  had 
no  former  life  for  him  to  be  jealous  of.  I  loved  him 
back  again  right  heartily.  I  loved  all  around  me, 
I  believe,  for  everybody  was  kind  to  me.  After  a 
time,  I  overcame  my  original  weakliness  of  consti- 
tution, and  was  just  a  bonny,  strong-looking  lad 
whom  every  passer-by  noticed,  when  my  father  took 
me  with  him  to  the  nearest  town. 

At  home  I  was  the  darling  of  my  aunt,  the  ten- 
derly-beloved of  my  father,  the  pet  and  plaything 
of  the  old  domestics,  the  "young  master"  of  the 
farm-laborers,  before  whom  I  played  many  a  lordly 
antic,  assuming  a  sort  of  authority  which  sat  oddly 
enough,  I  doubt  not,  on  such  a  baby  as  I  was. 

Gregory  was  three  years  older  than  I.  Aunt 
Fanny  was  always  kind  to  him  in  deed  and  in  action, 
but  she  did  not  often  think  about  him,  she  had 
fallen  so  completely  into  the  habit  of  being  engrossed 
by  me,  from  the  fact  of  my  having  come  into  her 
charge  as  a  delicate  baby.  My  father  never  got  over 
his  grudging  dislike  to  his  step-son,  who  had  so  inno- 
cently wrestled  with  him  for  the  possession  of  my 
mother's  heart.  I  mistrust  me,  too,  that  my  father 
always  considered  him  as  the  cause  of  my  mother's 
death  and  my  early  delicacy;  and  utterly  unreason- 
able as  this  may  seem,  I  believe  my  father  rather 
cherished  his  feeling  of  alienation  to  my  brother  as  a 
duty,  than  strove  to  repress  it.  Yet  not  for  the 


202  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

world  would  my  father  have  grudged  him  anything 
that  money  could  purchase.  That  was,  as  it  were, 
in  the  bond  when  he  had  wedded  my  mother. 
Gregory  was  lumpish  and  loutish,  awkward  and 
ungainly,  marring  whatever  he  meddled  in,  and 
many  a  hard  word  and  sharp  scolding  did  he  get 
from  the  people  about  the  farm,  who  hardly  waited 
till  my  father's  back  was  turned  before  they  rated 
the  step-son.  I  am  ashamed  —  my  heart  is  sore  to 
think  how  I  fell  into  the  fashion  of  the  family,  and 
slighted  my  poor  orphan  step-brother.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  scouted  him,  or.was  wilfully  ill-natured 
to  him;  but  the  habit  of  being  considered  in  all 
things,  and  being  treated  as  something  uncommon 
and  superior,  made  me  insolent  in  my  prosperity, 
and  I  exacted  more  than  Gregory  was  always  willing 
to  grant,  and  then,  irritated,  I  sometimes  repeated 
the  disparaging  words  I  had  heard  others  use  with 
regard  to  him,  without  fully  understanding  their 
meaning.  Whether  he  did  or  not  I  cannot  tell.  I 
am  afraid  he  did.  He  used  to  turn  silent  and  quiet 
—  sullen  and  sulky,  my  father  thought  it:  stupid, 
aunt  Fanny  used  to  call  it.  But  every  one  said  he 
was  stupid  and  dull,  and  this  stupidity  and  dulness 
grew  upon  him.  He  would  sit  without  speaking  a 
word,  sometimes,  for  hours;  then  my  father  would 
bid  him  rise  and  do  some  piece  of  work,  may  be, 
about  the  farm.  And  he  would  take  three  or  four 


THE   HALF-BROTHERS  203 

tellings  before  he  would  go.  When  we  were  sent  to 
school,  it  was  all  the  same.  He  could  never  be  made 
to  remember  his  lessons;  the  schoolmaster  grew 
weary  of  scolding  and  flogging,  and  at  last  advised 
my  father  just  to  take  him  away,  and  set  him  to 
some  farm-work  that  might  not  be  above  his  ^com- 
prehension. I  think  he  was  more  gloomy  and  stupid 
than  ever  after  this,  yet  he  was  not  a  cross  lad;  he 
was  patient  and  good-natured,  and  would  try  to  do 
a  kind  turn  for  any  one,  even  if  they  had  been 
scolding  or  cuffing  him  not  a  minute  before.  But 
very  often  his  attempts  at  kindness  ended  in  some 
mischief  to  the  very  people  he  was  trying  to  serve, 
owing  to  his  awkward,  ungainly  ways.  I  suppose  I 
was  a  clever  lad;  at  any  rate,  I  always  got  plenty  of 
praise;  and  was,  as  we  called  it,  the  cock  of  the 
school.  The  schoolmaster  said  I  could  learn  any- 
thing I  chose,  but  my  father,  who  had  no  great 
learning  himself,  saw  little  use  in  much  for  me,  and 
took  me  away  betimes,  and  kept  me  with  him  about 
the  farm.  Gregory  was  made  into  a  kind  of  shep- 
herd, receiving  his  training  under  old  Adam,  who  was 
nearly  past  his  work.  I  think  old  Adam  was  almost 
the  first  person  who  had  a  good  opinion  of  Gregory. 
He  stood  to  it  that  my  brother  had  good  parts, 
though  he  did  not  rightly  know  how  to  bring  them 
out;  and,  for  knowing  the  bearings  of  the  Fells,  he 
said  he  had  never  seen  a  lad  like  him.  My  father 


204  B£ST    ENGLISH   TALES 

would  try  to  bring  Adam  round  to  speak  of  Gregory's 
faults  and  shortcomings;  but,  instead  of  that,  he 
would  praise  him  twice  as  much,  as  soon  as  he  found 
out  what  was  my  father's  object. 

One  winter-time,  when  I  was  about  sixteen,  and 
Gregory  nineteen,  I  was  sent  by  my  father  on  an 
errand  to  a  place  about  seven  miles  distant  by  the 
road,  but  only  about  four  by  the  Fells.  He  bade  me 
return  by  the  road  whichever  way  I  took  in  going, 
for  the  evenings  closed  in  early,  and  were  often  thick 
and  misty;  besides  which,  old  Adam,  now  paralytic 
and  bedridden,  foretold  a  downfall  of  snow  before 
long.  I  soon  got  to  my  journey's  end,  and  soon  had 
done  my  business;  earlier  by  an  hour,  I  thought, 
than  my  father  had  expected,  so  I  took  the  decision 
of  the  way  by  which  I  would  return  into  my  own 
hands,  and  set  off  back  again  over  the  Fells,  just  as 
the  first  shades  of  evening  began  to  fall.  It  looked 
dark  and  gloomy  enough;  but  everything  was  so 
still  that  I  thought  I  should  have  plenty  of  time  to 
get  home  before  the  snow  came  down.  Off  I  set  at 
a  pretty  quick  pace.  But  night  came  on  quicker. 
The  right  path  was  clear  enough  in  the  daytime, 
although  at  several  points  two  or  three  exactly 
similar  diverged  from  the  same  place;  but  when 
there  was  a  good  light,  the  traveller  was  guided  by 
the  sight  of  distant  objects, —  a  piece  of  rock, —  a 
fall  in  the  ground  —  which  were  quite  invisible  to 


THE    HALF-BROTHERS  205 

. 

me  now.    I  plucked  up  a  brave  heart,  however,  and 
took  what  seemed  to  me  the  right  road.     It  was 
wrong,  nevertheless,  and  led  me  whither  I  knew 
not,  but  to  some  wild  boggy  moor  where  the  solitude 
seemed  painful,  intense,  as  if  never  footfall  of  man 
had  come  thither  to  break  the  silence.    I  tried  to 
shout  —  with  the  dimmest  possible  hope  of  being 
heard  —  rather  to  reassure  myself  by  the  sound  of 
my  own  voice;  but  my  voice  came  husky  and  short, 
and  yet  it  dismayed  me;    it  seemed  so  weird  and 
strange,  in  that  noiseless  expanse  of  black  darkness. 
Suddenly  the  air  was  filled  thick  with  dusky  flakes, 
my  face  and  hands  were  wet  with  snow.    It  cut  me 
off  from  the  slightest  knowledge  of  where  I  was, 
for  I  lost  every  idea  of  the  direction  from  which  I 
had  come,  so  that  I  could  not  even  retrace  my  steps; 
it  hemmed  me  in,  thicker,  thicker,  with  a  darkness 
that  might  be  felt.    The  boggy  soil  on  which  I  stood 
quaked  under  me  if  I  remained  long  in  one  place,  and 
yet  I  dared  not  move  far.    All  my  youthful  hardiness 
seemed  to  leave  me  at  once.    I  was  on  the  point  of 
crying,  and  only  very  shame  seemed  to  keep  it  down. 
To  save  myself  from  shedding  tears,  I  shouted  - 
terrible,  wild  shouts  for  bare  life  they  were.     I 
turned  sick  as  I  paused  to  listen;    no  answering 
sound  came  but  the  unfeeling  echoes.     Only  the 
noiseless,  pitiless  snow  kept  falling  thicker,  thicker 
—  faster,  faster!    I  was  growing  numb  and  sleepy. 


206  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

I  tried  to  move  about,  but  I  dared  not  go  far,  for 
fear  of  the  precipices  which,  I  knew,  abounded  in 
certain  places  on  the  Fells.  Now  and  then,  I  stood 
still  and  shouted  again;  but  my  voice  was  getting 
choked  with  tears,  as  I  thought  of  the  desolate  help- 
less death  I  was  to  die,  and  how  little  they  at  home, 
sitting  round  the  warm,  red,  bright  fire,  wotted  what 
was  become  of  me, —  and  how  my  poor  father  would 
grieve  for  me  —  it  would  surely  kill  him  —  it  would 
break  his  heart,  poor  old  man!  Aunt  Fanny  too  — 
was  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  her  cares  for  me?  I 
began  to  review  my  life  in  a  strange  kind  of  vivid 
dream,  in  which  the  various  scenes  of  my  few  boyish 
years  passed  before  me  like  visions.  In  a  pang  of 
agony,  caused  by  such  remembrance  of  my  short 
life,  I  gathered  up  my  strength  and  called  out  once 
more,  a  long,  despairing,  wailing  cry,  to  which  I  had 
no  hope  of  obtaining  any  answer,  save  from  the 
echoes  around,  dulled  as  the  sound  might  be  by  the 
thickened  air.  To  my  surprise  I  heard  a  cry  — 
almost  as  long,  as  wild  as  mine  —  so  wild,  that  it 
seemed  unearthly,  and  I  almost  thought  it  must  be 
the  voice  of  some  of  the  mocking  spirits  of  the  Fells, 
about  whom  I  had  heard  so  many  tales.  My  heart 
suddenly  began  to  beat  fast  and  loud.  I  could  not 
reply  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  nearly  fancied  I  had 
lost  the  power  of  utterance.  Just  at  this  moment  a 
dog  barked.  Was  it  Lassie's  bark  —  my  brother's 


THE   HALF-BROTHERS  207 

collie? —  an  ugly  enough  brute,  with  a  white,  ill- 
looking  face,  that  my  father  always  kicked  whenever 
he  saw  it,  partly  for  its  own  demerits,  partly  because 
it  belonged  to  my  brother.  On  such  occasions, 
Gregory  would  whistle  Lassie  away,  and  go  off  and 
sit  with  her  in  some  outhouse.  My  father  had  once 
or  twice  been  ashamed  of  himself,  when  the  poor 
collie  had  yowled  out  with  the  suddenness  of  the 
pain,  and  had  relieved  himself  of  his  self-reproach 
by  blaming  my  brother,  who,  he  said,  had  no  notion 
of  training  a  dog,  and  was  enough  to  ruin  any  collie 
in  Christendom  with  his  stupid  way  of  allowing  them 
to  lie  by  the  kitchen  fire.  To  all  which  Gregory 
would  answer  nothing,  nor  even  seem  to  hear,  but 
go  on  looking  absent  and  moody. 

Yes!  there  again!  It  was  Lassie's  bark!  Now  or 
never!  I  lifted  up  my  voice  and  shouted  "Lassie! 
Lassie!  for  God's  sake,  Lassie!"  Another  moment, 
and  the  great  white-faced  Lassie  was  curving  and 
gambolling  with  delight  round  my  feet  and  legs, 
looking,  however,  up  in  my  face  with  her  intelligent 
apprehensive  eyes,  as  if  fearing  lest  I  might  greet 
her  with  a  blow,  as  I  had  done  oftentimes  before. 
But  I  cried  with  gladness,  as  I  stooped  down  and 
patted  her.  My  mind  was  sharing  in  my  body's 
weakness,  and  I  could  not  reason,  but  I  knew  that 
help  was  at  hand.  A  gray  figure  came  more  and 
more  distinctly  out  of  the  thick,  close-pressing  dark- 
ness. It  was  Gregory  wrapped  in  his  maud. 


208  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"Oh,  Gregory!"  said  I,  and  I  fell  upon  his  neck, 
unable  to  speak  another  word.  He  never  spoke 
much,  and  made  me  no  answer  for  some  little  time. 
Then  he  told  me  we  must  move,  we  must  walk  for 
the  dear  life  —  we  must  find  our  road  home,  if 
possible;  but  we  must  move,  or  we  should  be  frozen 
to  death. 

"Don't  you  know  the  way  home?"    asked  I. 

"I  thought  I  did  when  I  set  out,  but  I  am  doubt- 
ful now.  The  snow  blinds  me,  and  I  am  feared  that 
in  moving  about  just  now,  I  have  lost  the  right  gait 
homewards." 

He  had  his  shepherd's  staff  with  him,  and  by  dint 
of  plunging  it  before  us  at  every  step  we  took  — 
clinging  close  to  each  other,  we  went  on  safely 
enough,  as  far  as  not  falling  down  any  of  the  steep 
rocks,  but  it  was  slow,  dreary  work.  My  brother, 
I  saw,  was  more  guided  by  Lassie  and  the  way  she 
took  than  anything  else,  trusting  to  her  instinct. 
It  was  too  dark  to-see  far  before  us;  but  he  called  her 
back  continually,  and  noted  from  what  quarter  she 
returned,  and  shaped  our  slow  steps  accordingly. 
But  the  tedious  motion  scarcely  kept  my  very  blood 
from  freezing.  Every  bone,  every  fibre  in  my  body 
seemed  first  to  ache,  and  then  to  swell,  and  then  to 
turn  numb  with  the  intense  cold.  My  brother  bore 
it  better  than  I,  from  having  been  more  out  upon  the 
hills.  He  did  not  speak,  except  to  call  Lassie.  I 


THE   HALF-BROTHERS  209 

strove  to  be  brave,  and  not  complain;  but  now  I 
felt  the  deadly  fatal  sleep  stealing  over  me. 

"I  can  go  no  farther,"  I  said,  in  a  drowsy  tone. 
I  remember  I  suddenly  became  dogged  and  re- 
solved. Sleep  I  would,  were  it  only  for  five  minutes. 
If  death  were  to  be  the  consequence,  sleep  I  would. 
Gregory  stood  still.  I  suppose,  he  recognized  the 
peculiar  phase  of  suffering  to  which  I  had  been 
brought  by  the  cold. 

"It  is  of  no  use,"  said  he,  as  if  to  himself.  "We 
are  no  nearer  home  than  we  were  when  we  started, 
as  far  as  I  can  tell.  Our  only  chance  is  in  Lassie. 
Here!  roll  thee  in  my  maud,  lad,  and  lay  thee  down 
on  this  sheltered  side  of  this  bit  of  rock.  Creep 
close  under  it,  lad,  and  I'll  lie  by  thee,  and  strive  to 
keep  the  warmth  in  us.  Stay!  hast  gotten  aught 
about  thee  they'll  know  at  home?" 

I  felt  him  unkind  thus  to  keep  me  from  slumber, 
but  on  his  repeating  the  question,  I  pulled  out  my 
pocket-handkerchief,  of  some  showy  pattern,  which 
aunt  Fanny  had  hemmed  for  me  —  Gregory  took  it, 
and  tied  it  around  Lassie's  neck. 

"Hie  thee,  Lassie,  hie  thee  home!"  And  the 
white-faced  ill-favored  brute  was  off  like  a  shot  in 
the  darkness.  Now  I  might  lie  down  —  now  I  might 
sleep.  In  my  drowsy  stupor,  I  felt  that  I  was  being 
tenderly  covered  up  by  my  brother;  but  what  with 
I  neither  knew  nor  cared  —  I  was  too  dull,  too 


210  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

selfish,  too  numb  to  think  and  reason,  or  I  might 
have  known  that  in  that  bleak  bare  place  there  was 
naught  to  wrap  me  in,  save  what  was  taken  off 
another.  I  was  glad  enough  when  he  ceased  his 
cares  and  lay  down  by  me.  I  took  his  hand. 

"Thou  canst  not  remember,  lad,  how  we  lay 
together  thus  by  our  dying  mother.  She  put  thy 
small,  wee  hand  in  mine  —  I  reckon  she  sees  us  now; 
and  belike  we  shall  soon  be  with  her.  Anyhow, 
God's  will  be  done." 

"Dear  Gregory,"  I  muttered,  and  crept  nearer 
to  him  for  warmth.  He  was  talking  still,  and  again 
about  our  mother,  when  I  fell  asleep.  In  an  instant 
—  or  so  it  seemed  —  there  were  many  voices  about 
me  —  many  faces  hovering  round  me  —  the  sweet 
luxury  of  warmth  was  stealing  into  every  part  of  me. 
I  was  in  my  own  little  bed  at  home.  I  am  thankful 
to  say,  my  first  word  was  "Gregory." 

A  look  passed  from  one  to  another  —  my  father's 
stern  old  face  strove  in  vain  to  keep  its  sternness; 
his  mouth  quivered,  rn's  eyes  filled  with  unwonted 
tears. 

"I  would  have  given  him  half  my  land  —  I  would 
have  blessed  him  as  my  son, —  Oh  God!  I  would 
have  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  asked  him  to  forgive  my 
hardness  of  heart." 

I  heard  no  more.  A  whirl  came  through  my  brain, 
catching  me  back  to  death. 


THE    HALF-BROTHERS  211 

I  came  slowly  to  my  consciousness,  weeks  after- 
wards. My  father's  hair  was  white  when  I  recovered, 
and  his  hands  shook  as  he  looked  into  my  face. 

We  spoke  no  more  of  Gregory.  We  could  not 
speak  of  him;  but  he  was  strangely  in  our  thoughts. 
Lassie  came  and  went  with  never  a  word  of  blame; 
nay,  my  father  would  try  to  stroke  her,  but  she 
shrank  away;  and  he,  as  if  reproved  by  the  poor 
dumb  beast,  would  sigh,  and  be  silent  and  abstracted 
for  a  time. 

Aunt  Fanny  —  always  a  talker  —  told  me  all. 
How,  on  that  fatal  night,  my  father,  irritated  by  my 
prolonged  absence,  and  probably  more  anxious  than 
he  cared  to  show,  had  been  fierce  and  imperious, 
even  beyond  his  wont,  to  Gregory;  had  upbraided 
him  with  his  father's  poverty,  his  own  stupidity 
which  made  his  services  good  for  nothing  —  for  so, 
in  spite  of  the  old  shepherd,  my  father  always  chose 
to  consider  them.  At  last,  Gregory  had  risen  up, 
and  whistled  Lassie  out  with  him  —  poor  Lassie, 
crouching  underneath  his  chair  for  fear  of  a  kick  or  a 
blow.  Some  time  before,  there  had  been  some  talk 
between  my  father  and  my  aunt  respecting  my 
return;  and  when  aunt  Fanny  told  me  all  this,  she 
said  she  fancied  that  Gregory  might  have  noticed 
the  coming  storm,  and  gone  out  silently  to  meet  me. 
Three  hours  afterwards,  when  all  were  running 
about  in  wild  alarm,  not  knowing  whither  to  go  in 


212  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

search  of  me  —  not  even  missing  Gregory,  or  heed- 
ing his  absence,  poor  fellow  —  poor,  poor  fellow!  — 
Lassie  came  home,  with  my  handkerchief  tied  round 
her  neck.  They  knew  and  understood,  and  the 
whole  strength  of  the  farm  was  turned  out  to  follow 
her,  with  wraps  and  blankets,  and  brandy,  and 
everything  that  could  be  thought  of.  I  lay  in  chilly 
sleep,  but  still  alive,  beneath  the  rock  that  Lassie 
guided  them  to.  I  was  covered  with  my  brother's 
plaid,  and  his  thick  shepherd's  coat  was  carefully 
wrapped  round  my  feet.  He  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
—  his  arm  thrown  over  me — a  quiet  smile  (he  had 
hardly  ever  smiled  in  life)  upon  his  still,  cold  face. 

My  father's  last  words  were,  "  God  forgive  me  my 
hardness  of  heart  towards  the  fatherless  child!" 

And  what  marked  the  depth  of  his  feeling  of 
repentance,  perhaps  more  than  all,  considering  the 
passionate  love  he  bore  my  mother,  was  this;  we 
found  a  paper  of  directions  after  his  death,  in  which 
he  desired  that  he  might  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  grave, 
in  which,  by  his  desire,  poor  Gregory  had  been  laid 

with  OUR  MOTHER. 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 
BY  DR.  JOHN  BROWN 


RAB  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 

FOUR-AND-THIRTY  years  ago,  Bob  Ainslie  and  I 
were  coming  up  Infirmary  Street  from  the  High 
School,  our  heads  together,  and  our  arms  inter- 
twisted, as  only  lovers  and  boys  know  how,  or  why. 

When  we  got  to  the  top  of  the  street,  and  turned 
north,  we  espied  a  crowd  at  the  Tron  Church.  "A 
dog-fight!"  shouted  Bob,  and  was  off;  and  so  was 
I,  both  of  us  all  but  praying  that  it  might  not  be  over 
before  we  got  up!  And  is  not  this  boy-nature?  and 
human  nature  too?  and  don't  we  all  wish  a  house  on 
fire  not  to  be  out  before  we  see  it?  Dogs  like  fight- 
ing; old  Isaac  says  they  "delight"  in  it,  and  for  the 
best  of  all  reasons;  and  boys  are  not  cruel  because 
they  like  to  see  the  fight.  They  see  three  of  the 
great  cardinal  virtues  of  dog  or  man  —  courage, 
endurance,  and  skill  —  in  intense  action.  This  is 
very  different  from  a  love  of  making  dogs  fight,  and 
enjoying,  and  aggravating,  and  making  gain  by  their 
pluck.  A  boy  —  be  he  ever  so  fond  himself  of 
fighting  —  if  he  be  a  good  boy,  hates  and  despises 
all  this,  but  he  would  have  run  off  with  Bob  and  me 
fast  enough:  it  is  a  natural,  and  a  not  wicked 
interest,  that  all  boys  and  men  have  in  witnessing 
intense  energy  in  action. 

215 


2l6  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

Does  any  curious  and  finely  ignorant  woman  wish 
to  know  how  Bob's  eye  at  a  glance  announced  a  dog- 
fight to  his  brain?  He  did  not,  he  could  not  see  the 
dogs  fighting;  it  was  a  flash  of  an  inference,  a  rapid 
induction.  The  crowd  round  a  couple  of  dogs  fight- 
ing, is  a  crowd  masculine  mainly,  with  an  occasional 
active,  compassionate  woman,  fluttering  wildly 
round  the  outside,  and  using  her  tongue  and  her 
hands  freely  upon  the  men,  as  so  many  "brutes"; 
it  is  a  crowd  annular,  compact,  and  mobile;  a 
crowd  centripetal,  having  its  eyes  and  its  heads  all 
bent  downwards  and  inwards  to  one  common  focus. 

Well,  Bob  and  I  are  up,  and  find  it  is  not  over:  a 
small  thoroughbred,  white  bull-terrier  is  busy 
throttling  a  large  shepherd's  dog,  unaccustomed  to 
war,  but  not  to  be  trifled  with.  They  are  hard  at  it; 
the  scientific  little  fellow  doing  his  work  in  great 
style,  his  pastoral  enemy  fighting  wildly,  but  with 
the  sharpest  of  teeth  and  a  great  courage.  Science 
and  breeding,  however,  soon  had  their  own;  the 
Game  Chicken,  as  the  premature  Bob  called  him, 
working  his  way  up,  took  his  final  grip  of  poor 
Yarrow's  throat, —  and  he  lay  gasping  and  done 
for.  His  master,  a  brown,  handsome,  big  young 
shepherd  from  Tweedsmuir,  would  have  liked  to 
have  knocked  down  any  man,  would  "  drink  up 
Esil,  or  eat  a  crocodile,"  for  that  part,  if  he  had  a 
chance:  it  was  no  use  kicking  the  little  dog;  that 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS 


217 


would  only  make  him  hold  the  closer.  Many  were 
the  means  shouted  out  in  mouthfuls,  of  the  best 
possible  ways  of  ending  it.  "  Water ! "  but  there  was 
none  near,  and  many  cried  for  it  who  might  have 
got  it  from  the  well  at  Blackfriars  Wynd.  "Bite 
the  tail!"  and  a  large,  vague,  benevolent,  middle- 
aged  man,  more  desirous  than  wise,  with  some 
struggle  got  the  bushy  end  of  Y arrow' s  tail  into  his 
ample  mouth,  and  bit  it  with  all  his  might.  This 
was  more  than  enough  for  the  much-enduring, 
much-perspiring  shepherd,  who,  with  a  gleam  of  joy 
over  his  broad  visage,  delivered  a  terrific  facer  upon 
our  large,  vague,  benevolent,  middle-aged  friend, — 
who  went  down  like  a  shot. 

Still  the  Chicken  holds;  death  not  far  off. 
" Snuff!  a  pinch  of  snuff!"  observes  a  calm,  highly 
dressed  young  buck,  with  an  eye-glass  in  his  eye. 
" Snuff,  indeed!"  growled  the  angry  crowd,  affronted 
and  glaring.  "Snuff!  a  pinch  of  snuff!"  again 
observes  the  buck,  but  with  more  urgency;  whereon 
were  produced  several  open  boxes,  and  from  a  mull 
which  may  have  been  at  Culloden,  he  took  a  pinch, 
knelt  down,  and  presented  it  to  the  nose  of  the 
Chicken.  The  laws  of  physiology  and  of  snuff  take 
their  course;  the  Chicken  sneezes,  and  Yarrow  is 
free! 

The  young  pastoral  giant  stalks  off  with  Yarrow  in 
his  arms, —  comforting  him. 


2l8  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES' 

But  the  Bull  Terrier's  blood  is  up,  and  his  soul 
^unsatisfied;  he  grips  the  first  dog  he  meets,  and  dis- 
covering she  is  not  a  dog,  in  Homeric  phrase,  he 
makes  a  brief  sort  of  amende,  and  is  off.  The  boys, 
with  Bob  and  me  at  their  head,  are  after  him:  down 
Niddry  Street  he  goes,  bent  on  mischief;  up  the 
Cowgate  like  an  arrow  —  Bob  and  I,  and  our  small 
men,  panting  behind. 

There,  under  the  single  arch  of  the  South  Bridge, 
is  a  huge  mastiff,  sauntering  down  the  middle  of  the 
causeway,  as  if  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets :  he  is 
old,  gray,  brindled,  as  big  as  a  little  Highland  bull, 
and  has  the  Shaksperian  dewlaps  shaking  as  he  goes. 

The  Chicken  makes  straight  at  him,  and  fastens 
on  his  throat.  To  our  astonishment,  the  great 
creature  does  nothing  but  stand  still,  hold  himself 
up,  and  roar  —  yes,  roar;  a  long,  serious,  remon- 
strative  roar.  How  is  this?  Bob  and  I  are 
up  to  them.  He  is  muzzled!  The  bailies  had 
proclaimed  a  general  muzzling,  and  his  master, 
studying  strength  and  economy  mainly,  had 
encompassed  his  huge  jaws  in  a  home-made  appa- 
ratus, constructed  out  of  the  leather  of  some  ancient 
breechin.  His  mouth  was  open  .as  far  as  it  could; 
his  lips  curled  up  in  rage  —  a  sort  of  terrible  grin ; 
his  teeth  gleaming,  ready,  from  out  the  darkness; 
the  strap  across  his  mouth  tense  as  a  bowstring;  his 
whole  frame  stiff  with  indignation  and  surprise; 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  219 

his  roar  asking  us  all  round,  "Did  you  ever  see  the 
like  of  this?'7  He  looked  a  statue  of  anger  and 
astonishment  done  in  Aberdeen  granite. 

We  soon  had  a  crowd :  the  Chicken  held  on.  "A 
knife! "  cried  Bob;  and  a  cobbler  gave  him  his  knife: 
you  know  the  kind  of  knife,  worn  away  obliquely 
to  a  point,  and  always  keen.  I  put  its  edge  to  the 
tense  leather;  it  ran  before  it;  and  then! — one 
sudden  jerk  of  that  enormous  head,  a  sort  of  dirty 
mist  about  his  mouth,  no  noise, —  and  the  bright 
and  fierce  little  fellow  is  dropped,  limp  and  dead. 
A  solemn  pause:  this  was  more  than  any  of  us  had 
bargained  for.  I  turned  the  little  fellow  over,  and 
saw  he  was  quite  dead:  the  mastiff  had  taken  him 
by  the  small  of  the  back  like  a  rat,  and  broken  it. 

He  looked  down  at  his  victim  appeased,  ashamed, 
and  amazed;  snuffed  him  all  over,  stared  at  him, 
and  taking  a  sudden  thought,  turned  round  and 
trotted  off.  Bob  took  the  dead  dog  up,  and  said, 
"John,  we'll  bury  him  after  tea."  "Yes,"  said  I, 
and  was  off  after  the  mastiff.  He  made  up  the  Cow- 
gate  at  a  rapid  swing;  he  had  forgotten  some  engage- 
ment. He  turned  up  the  Candlemaker  Row,  and 
stopped  at  the  Harrow  Inn. 

There  was  a  carrier's  cart  ready  to  start,  and  a 
keen,  thin,  impatient  black-a- vised  little  man,  his 
hand  at  his  gray  horse's  head,  looking  about  angrily 
for  something.  "Rab,  ye  thief!"  said  he,  aiming  a 


220  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

kick  at  my  great  friend,  who  drew  cringing  up,  and 
avoiding  the  heavy  shoe  with  more  agility  than 
dignity,  and  watching  his  master's  eye,  slunk  dis- 
mayed under  the  cart, —  his  eyes  down,  and  as  much 
as  he  had  of  tail  down  too. 

What  a  man  this  must  be  —  thought  I  —  to 
whom  my  tremendous  hero  turns  tail!  The  carrier 
saw  the  muzzle  hanging,  cut  and  useless,  from  his 
neck,  and  I  eagerly  told  him  the  story,  which  Bob 
and  I  always  thought  and  still  think,  Homer,  or 
King  David,  or  Sir  Walter,  alone  were  worthy  to 
rehearse.  The  severe  little  man  was  mitigated  and 
condescended  to  say,  "Rab,  ma  man,  puir  Rabbie," 
—  whereupon  the  stump  of  a  tail  rose  up,  the  ears 
were  cocked,  the  eyes  filled,  and  were  comforted; 
the  two  friends  were  reconciled.  "Hupp!"  and  a 
stroke  of  the  whip  was  given  to  Jess;  and  off  went 
the  three. 

Bob  and  I  buried  the  Game  Chicken  that  night 
(we  had  not  much  of  a  tea)  in  the  back-green  of  his 
house,  in  Melville  Street,  No.  17,  with  considerable 
gravity  and  silence;  and  being  at  the  time  in  the 
Iliad,  and,  like  all  boys,  Trojans,  we  called  him 
Hector  of  course. 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  221 

Six  years  have  passed — a  long  time,  for  a  boy  and 
a  dog:  Bob  Ainslie  is  off  to  the  wars;  I  am  a  medical 
student,  and  clerk  at  Minto  House  Hospital. 

Rab  I  saw  almost  every  week,  on  the  Wednesday; 
and  we  had  much  pleasant  intimacy.  I  found  the 
way  to  his  heart  by  frequent  scratching  of  his  huge 
head,  and  an  occasional  bone.  When  I  did  not  notice 
him  he  would  plant  himself  straight  before  me,  and 
stand  wagging  that  bud  of  a  tail,  and  looking  up, 
with  his  head  a  little  to  the  one  side.  His  master  I 
occasionally  saw;  he  used  to  call  me  "Maister 
John,"  but  was  laconic  as  any  Spartan. 

One  fine  October  afternoon,  I  was  leaving  the 
hospital,  when  I  saw  the  large  gate  open,  and  in 
walked  Rab,  with  that  great  and  easy  saunter  of  his. 
He  looked  as  if  taking  general  possession  of  the 
place;  like  the  Duke  of  Wellington  entering  a  sub- 
dued city,  satiated  with  victory  and  peace.  After 
him  came  Jess,  now  white  from  age,  with  her  cart; 
and  in  it  a  woman,  carefully  wrapped  up, —  the 
carrier  leading  the  horse  anxiously,  and  looking 
back.  When  he  saw  me,  James  (for  his  name  was 
James  Noble)  made  a  curt  and  grotesque  "boo," 
and  said,  "Maister  John,  this  is  the  mistress;  she's 
got  a  trouble  in  her  breast  —  some  kind  o'  an  in- 
come we're  thinkin'." 

By  this  time  I  saw  the  woman's  face;  she  was 
sitting  on  a  sack  filled  with  straw,  her  husband's 


222  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

plaid  round  her,  and  his  big-coat,  with  its  large 
white  metal  buttons,  over  her  feet. 

I  never  saw  a  more  unforgetable  face  —  pale, 
serious,  lonely*  delicate,  sweet,  without  being  at  all 
what  we  call  fine.  She  looked  sixty,  and  had  on  a 
mutch,  white  as  snow,  with  its  black  ribbon;  her 
silvery,  smooth  hair  setting  off  her  dark-gray  eyes  — 
eyes  such  as  one  sees  only  twice  or  thrice  in  a  life- 
time, full  of  suffering,  full  also  of  the  overcoming  of  it; 
her  eyebrows  black  and  delicate,  and  her  mouth  firm, 
patient,  and  contented,  which  few  mouths  ever  are. 

As  I  have  said,  I  never  saw  a  more  beautiful 
countenance,  or  one  more  subdued  to  settled  quiet. 
"Ailie,"  said  James,  "this  is  Maister  John,  the 
young  doctor;  Rab's  freend,  ye  ken.  We  often 
speak  aboot  you,  doctor."  She  smiled,  and  made  a 
movement,  but  said  nothing;  and  prepared  to  come 
down,  putting  her  plaid  aside  and  rising.  Had 
Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  been  handing  down  the 
Queen  of  Sheba  at  his  palace  gate,  he  could  not  have 
done  it  more  daintily,  more  tenderly,  more  like  a 
gentleman,  than  did  James  the  Howgate  carrier, 
when  he  lifted  down  Ailie  his  wife.  The  contrast  of 
his  small,  swarthy,  weather-beaten,  keen,  worldly 
face  to  hers  —  pale,  subdued,  and  beautiful  —  was 
something  wonderful.  Rab  looked  on  concerned  and 

*It  is  not  easy  giving  this  look  by  one  word:  it  was 
expressive  of  her  being  so  much  of  her  life  alone. 


RAB    AND   HIS    FRIENDS  223 

puzzled,  but  ready  for  anything  that  might  turn  up, 
-  were  it  to  strangle  the  nurse,  the  porter,  or  even 
me.    Ailie  and  he  seemed  great  friends. 

"As  I  was  sayin',  she's  got  a  kind  o'  trouble  in  her 
breest,  doctor;  wull  ye  tak'  a  look  at  it?"  We 
walked  into  the  consulting-room,  all  four;  Rab  grim 
and  comic,  willing  to  be  happy  and  confidential  if 
cause  could  be  shown,  willing  also  to  be  the  reverse, 
on  the  same  terms.  Ailie  sat  down,  undid  her  open 
gown  and  her  lawn  handkerchief  round  her  neck, 
and,  without  a  word,  showed  me  her  right  breast. 
I  looked  at  it  and  examined  it  carefully, —  she  and 
James  watching  me,  and  Rab  eyeing  all  three.  What 
could  I  say?  There  it  was,  that  had  once  been  so 
soft,  so  shapely,  so  white,  so  gracious  and  bountiful, 
so  "full  of  all  blessed  conditions," —  hard  as  a  stone, 
a  centre  of  horrid  pain,  making  that  pale  face,  with 
its  gray,  lucid,  reasonable  eyes,  and  its  sweet 
resolved  mouth,  express  the  full  measure  of  suffering 
overcome.  Why  was  that  gentle,  modest,  sweet 
woman,  clean  and  lovable,  condemned  by  God  to 
bear  such  a  burden? 

I  got  her  away  to  bed.  "  May  Rab  and  me  bide?" 
said  James.  "  You  may;  and  Rab,  if  he  will  behave 
himself."  "Fse  warrant  he's  do  that,  doctor;"  and 
in  slunk  the  faithful  beast.  I  wish  you  could  have 
seen  him.  There  are  no  such  dogs  now.  He  be- 
longed to  a  lost  tribe.  As  I  have  said,  he  was 


224  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

brindled,  and  gray  like  Rubislaw  granite;  his  hair 
short,  hard,  and  close,  like  a  lion's;  his  body  thick 
set,  like  a  little  bull  —  a  sort  of  compressed  Hercules 
of  a  dog.  He  must  have  been  ninety  pounds  weight, 
at  the  least;  he  had  a  large  blunt  head;  his  muzzle 
black  as  night,  his  mouth  blacker  than  any  night,  a 
tooth  or  two  —  being  all  he  had  —  gleaming  out  of 
his  jaws  of  darkness.  His  head  was  scarred  with 
the  records  of  old  wounds,  a  sort  of  series  of  fields 
of  battle  all  over  it;  one  eye  out,  one  ear  cropped  as 
close  as  was  Archbishop  Leighton's  father's;  the 
remaining  eye  had  the  power  of  two;  and  above  it, 
and  in  constant  communication  with  it,  was  a 
tattered  rag  of  an  ear,  which  was  forever  unfurling 
itself,  like  an  old  flag;  and  then  that  bud  of  a  tail, 
about  one  inch  long,  if  it  could  in  any  sense  be  said 
to  be  long,  being  as  broad  as  long  —  the  mobility, 
the  instantaneousness  of  that  bud  were  very  funny 
and  surprising,  and  its  expressive  twinklings  and 
winkings,  the  intercommunications  between  the  eye, 
the  ear  and  it,  were  of  the  oddest  and  swiftest. 
Rab  had  the  dignity  and  simplicity  of  great  size; 
and  having  fought  his  way  all  along  the  road  to 
absolute  supremacy,  he  was  as  mighty  in  his  own 
line  as  Julius  Caesar  or  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and 
had  the  gravity  *  of  all  great  fighters. 

1 A  Highland  game-keeper,  when  asked  why  a  certain 
terrier,  of  singular  pluck,  was  so  much  more  solemn  than 
the  other  dogs,  said,  "Oh,  Sir,  life's  full  o'  sairiousness  to 
him  —  he  just  never  can  get  enuff  o'  fechtinV 


RAB   AND   HIS    FRIENDS 


225 


You  must  have  often  observed  the  likeness  of 
certain  men  to  certain  animals,  and  of  certain  dogs  to 
men.  Now,  I  never  looked  at  Rab  without  thinking  of 
the  great  Baptist  preacher,  Andrew  Fuller.1  The  same 
large,  heavy,  menacing,  combative,  sombre,  honest 
countenance,  the  same  deep  inevitable  eye,  the  same 
look, —  as  of  thunder  asleep,  but  ready, —  neither  a 
dog  nor  a  man  to  be  trifled  with. 

Next  day,  my  master,  the  surgeon,  examined 
Ailie.  There  was  no  doubt  it  must  kill  her,  and  soon. 
It  could  be  removed  —  it  might  never  return  — 
it  would  give  her  speedy  relief  —  she  should  have  it 
done.  She  curtsied,  looked  at  James,  and  said, 
"When?"  "To-morrow,"  said  the  kind  surgeon  — 
a  man  of  few  words.  She  and  James  and  Rab  and  I 
retired.  I  noticed  that  he  and  she  spoke  little,  but 
seemed  to  anticipate  everything  in  each  other.  The 
following  day,  at  noon,  the  students  came  in,  hurry- 

1  Fuller  was,  in  early  life,  when  a  farmer  lad  at  Soham, 
famous  as  a  boxer;  not  quarrelsome,  but  not  without  "the 
stern  delight"  a  man  of  strength  and  courage  feels  in  their 
exercise.  Dr.  Charles  Stewart,  of  Dunearn,  whose  rare 
gifts  and  graces  as  a  physician,  a  divine,  a  scholar,  and  a 
gentleman,  live  only  in  the  memory  of  those  few  who 
knew  and  survive  him,  liked  to  tell  how  Mr.  Fuller  used  to 
say,  that  when  he  was  in  the  pulpit,  and  saw  a  buirdly 
man  come  along  the  passage,  he  would  instinctively  draw 
himself  up,  measure  his  imaginary  antagonist,  and  fore- 
cast how  he  would  deal  with  him,  his  hands  meanwhile 
condensing  into  fists,  and  tending  to  "square."  He  must 
have  been  a  hard  hitter  if  he  boxed  as  he  preached — what 
"The  Fancy"  would  call  "an  ugly  customer." 


226  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

ing  up  the  great  stair.  At  the  first  landing-place,  on 
a  small  well-known  blackboard,  was  a  bit  of  paper 
fastened  by  wafers,  and  many  remains  of  old  wafers 
beside  it.  On  the  paper  were  the  words, — "An 
operation  to-day.  J.  B.,  Clerk." 

Up  ran  the  youths,  eager  to  secure  good  places: 
in  they  crowded,  full  of  interest  and  talk.  "  What's 
the  case?"  "Which  side  is  it?" 

Don't  think  them  heartless;  they  are  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  you  or  I:  they  get  over  their 
professional  horrors,  and  into  their  proper  work;  and 
in  them  pity  —  as  an  emotion,  ending  in  itself  or  at 
best  in  tears  and  a  long-drawn  breath,  lessens,  while 
pity  as  a  motive,  is  quickened  and  gains  power  and 
purpose.  It  is  well  for  poor  human  nature  that  it  is 
so. 

The  operating  theatre  is  crowded;  much  talk 
and  fun,  and  all  the  cordiality  and  stir  of  youth. 
The  surgeon  with  his  staff  of  assistants  is  there.  In 
comes  Ailie:  one  look  at  her  quiets  and  abates  the 
eager  students.  That  beautiful  old  woman  is  too 
much  for  them;  they  sit  down,  and  are  dumb,  and 
gaze  at  her.  These  rough  boys  feel  the  power  of  her 
presence.  She  walks  in  quickly,  but  without  haste; 
dressed  in  her  mutch,  her  neckerchief,  her  white 
dimity  shortgown,  her  black  bombazine  petticoat, 
showing  her  white  worsted  stockings  and  her 
carpet-shoes.  Behind  her  was  James  with  Rab. 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  227 

James  sat  down  in  the  distance,, and  took  that  huge 
and  noble  head  between  his  knees.  Rab  looked  per- 
plexed and  dangerous;  forever  cocking  his  ear  and 
dropping  it  as  fast. 

Ailie  stepped  up  on  a  seat,  and  laid  herself  on  the 
table,  as  her  friend  the  surgeon  told  her;  arranged 
herself,  gave  a  rapid  look  at  James,  shut  her  eyes, 
rested  herself  on  me,  and  took  my  hand.  The  oper- 
ation was  at  once  begun;  it  was  necessarily  slow; 
and  chloroform  —  one  of  God's  best  gifts  to  his  suf- 
fering children  —  was  then  unknown.  The  surgeon 
did  his  work.  The  pale  face  showed  its  pain,  but 
was  still  and  silent.  Rab's  soul  was  working  within 
him;  he  saw  that  something  strange  was  going  on, — 
blood  flowing  from  his  mistress,  and  she  suffering; 
his  ragged  ear  was  up,  and  importunate;  he  growled 
and  gave  now  and  then  a  short  impatient  yelp;  he 
would  have  liked  to  have  done  something  to  that 
man.  But  James  had  him  firm,  and  gave  him  a 
glower  from  time  to  time,  and  an  intimation  of  a 
possible  kick; —  all  the  better  for  James,  it  kept  his 
eye  and  his  mind  off  Ailie. 

It  is  over:  she  is  dressed,  steps  gently  and 
decently  down  from  the  table,  looks  for  James;  then, 
turning  to  the  surgeon  and  the  students,  she  curtsies, 
—  and  in  a  low,  clear  voice,  begs  their  pardon  if  she 
has  behaved  ill.  The  students  —  all  of  us  —  wept 
like  children;  the  surgeon  happed  her  up  carefully, 


228  BEST,    ENGLISH   TALES 

—  and,  resting  on  James  and  me,  Ailie  went  to  her 
room,  Rab  following.  We  put  her  to  bed.  James 
took  off  his  heavy  shoes,  crammed  with  tackets, 
heel-capt  and  toe-capt,  and  put  them  carefully  under 
the  table,  saying,  "Maister  John,  I'm  for  nane  o' 
yer  strynge  nurse  bodies  for  Ailie.  I'll  be  her  nurse, 
and  I'll  gang  aboot  on  my  stockin'  soles  as  canny  as 
pussy."  And  so  he  did;  and  handy  and  clever,  and 
swift  and  tender  as  any  woman,  was  that  horny- 
handed,  snell,  peremptory  little  man.  Everything 
she  got  he  gave  her:  he  seldom  slept;  and  often  I 
saw  his  small  shrewd  eyes  out  of  the  darkness,  fixed 
on  her.  As  before,  they  spoke  little. 

Rab  behaved  well,  never  moving,  showing  us  how 
meek  and  gentle  he  could  be,  and  occasionally,  in  his 
sleep,  letting  us  know  that  he  was  demolishing  some 
adversary.  He  took  a  walk  with  me  every  day, 
generally  to  the  Candlemaker  Row;  but  he  was 
sombre  and  mild;  declined  doing  battle,  though 
some  fit  cases  offered,  and  indeed  submitted  to 
sundry  indignities;  and  was  always  very  ready  to 
turn,  and  came  faster  back,  and  trotted  up  the  stair 
with  much  lightness,  and  went  straight  to  that  door. 

Jess,  the  mare,  had  been  sent,  with  her  weather- 
worn cart,  to  Howgate,  and  had  doubtless  her  own 
dim  and  placid  meditations  and  confusions,  on  the 
absence  of  her  master  and  Rab,  and  her  unnatural 
freedom  from  the  road  and  her  cart. 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  229 

For  some  days  Ailie  did  well.  The  wound  healed 
"by  the  first  intention;"  for  as  James  said,  "Oor 
Ailie's  skin's  ower  clean  to  beil."  The  students  came 
in  quiet  and  anxious,  and  surrounded  her  bed.  She 
said  she  liked  to  see  their  young,  honest  faces.  The 
surgeon  dressed  her,  and  spoke  to  her  in  his  own 
short  kind  way,  pitying  her  through  his  eyes.  Rab 
and  James  outside  the  circle, —  Rab  being  now 
reconciled,  and  even  cordial,  and  having  made  up 
his  mind  that  as  yet  nobody  required  worrying,  but, 
as  you  may  suppose,  semper  paratus. 

So  far  well:  but,  four  days  after  the  operation, 
my  patient  had  a  sudden  and  long  shivering,  a 
''groosin',"  as  she  called  it.  I  saw  her  soon  after; 
her  eyes  were  too  bright,  her  cheek  colored:  she  was 
restless,  and  ashamed  of  being  so;  the  balance  was 
lost;  mischief  had  begun.  On  looking  at  the  wound, 
a  blush  of  red  told  the  secret :  her  pulse .  was 
rapid,  her  breathing  anxious  and  quick,  she  wasn't 
herself,  as  she  said,  and  was  vexed  at  her  restlessness. 
We  tried  what  we  could.  James  did  everything,  was 
everything;  never  in  the  way,  never  out  of  it;  Rab 
subsided  under  the  table  into  a  dark  place,  and  was 
motionless,  all  but  his  eye,  which  followed  every  one. 
Ailie  got  worse;  began  to  wander  in  her  mind, 
gently;  was  more  demonstrative  in  her  ways  to 
James,  rapid  in  her  questions,  and  sharp  at  times. 
He  was  vexed,  and  said,  "She  was  never  that  way 


230  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

afore;  no,  never."  For  a  time  she  knew  her  head 
was  wrong,  and  was  always  asking  our  pardon  — 
the  dear,  gentle  old  woman:  then  delirium  set  in 
strong,  without  pause.  Her  brain  gave  way,  and 
then  came  that  terrible  spectacle, 

"The    intellectual    power,    through    words    and    things, 
Went  sounding  on  its  dim  and  perilous  way," 

she  sang  bits  of  old  songs  and  Psalms,  stopping 
suddenly,  mingling  the  Psalms  of  David,  and  the 
diviner  words  of  his  Son  and  Lord,  with  homely  odds 
and  ends  and  scraps  of  ballads. 

Nothing  more  touching,  or  in  a  sense  more 
strangely  beautiful,  did  I  ever  witness.  Her  trem- 
ulous, rapid,  affectionate,  eager,  Scotch  voice,— 
the  swift,  aimless,  bewildered  mind,  the  baffled 
utterance,  the  bright  and  perilous  eye;  some  wild 
words,  some  household  cares,  something  for  James, 
the  names  of  the  dead,  Rab  called  rapidly  and  in  a 
"fremyt"  voice,  and  he  starting  up,  surprised,  and 
slinking  off  as  if  he  were  to  blame  somehow,  or  had 
been  dreaming  he  heard.  Many  eager  questions 
and  beseechings  which  James  and  I  could  make 
nothing  of,  and  on  which  she  seemed  to  set  her  all, 
and  then  sink  back  ununderstood.  It  was  very  sad, 
but  better  than  many  things  that  are  not  called  sad. 
James  hovered  about,  put  out  and  miserable,  but 
active  and  exact  as  ever;  read  to  her,  when  there 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS 


231 


was  a  lull,  short  bits  from  the  Psalms,  prose  and 
metre,  chanting  the  latter  in  his  own  rude  and 
serious  way,  showing  great  knowledge  of  the  fit 
words,  bearing  up  like  a  man,  and  doting  over  her 
as  his  "ain  Ailie."  "Ailie,  ma  woman!"  "Ma  ain 
bonnie  wee  dawtie!" 

The  end  was  drawing  on:  the  golden  bowl  was 
breaking;  the  silver  cord  was  fast  being  loosed  — 
that  animula  blandula,  vagula,  hospes,  comesque,  was 
about  to  flee.  The  body  and  soul  —  companions 
for  sixty  years  —  were  being  sundered,  and  taking 
leave.  She  was  walking,  alone,  through  the  valley 
of  that  shadow,  into  which  one  day  we  must  all 
enter, —  and  yet  she  was  not  alone,  for  we  know 
whose  rod  and  staff  were  comforting  her. 

One  night  she  had  fallen  quiet,  and  as  we  hoped, 
asleep;  her  eyes  were  shut.  We  put  down  the  gas, 
and  sat  watching  her.  Suddenly  she  sat  up  in  bed, 
and  taking  a  bedgown  which  was  lying  on  it  rolled 
up,  she  held  it  eagerly  to  her  breast, —  to  the  right 
side.  We  could  see  her  eyes  bright  with  a  surprising 
tenderness  and  joy,  bending  over  this  bundle  of 
clothes.  She  held  it  as  a  woman  holds  a  sucking 
child;-  opening  out  her  nightgown  impatiently,  and 
holding  it  close,  and  brooding  over  it,  and  murmur- 
ing foolish  little  words,  as  over  one  whom  his  mother 
comforteth,  and  who  sucks  and  is  satisfied.  It  was 
pitiful  and  strange  to  see  her  wasted  dying  look, 
keen  and  yet  vague  —  her  immense  love. 


232  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"Preserve  me!"  groaned  James,  giving  way. 
And  then  she  rocked  back  and  forward,  as  if  to  make 
it  sleep,  hushing  it,  and  wasting  on  it  her  infinite 
fondness.  "Wae's  me,  doctor;  I  declare  she's 
thinkin'  it's  that  bairn."  "What  bairn?"  "The 
only  bairn  we  ever  had;  our  wee  Mysie,  and  she's  in 
the  Kingdom,  forty  years  and  mair."  It  was  plainly 
true:  the  pain  in  the  breast,  telling  its  urgent  story 
to  a  bewildered,  ruined  brain,  was  misread  and  mis- 
taken; it  suggested  to  her  the  uneasiness  of  a  breast 
full  of  milk,  and  then  the  child;  and  so  again  once 
more  they  were  together,  and  she  had  her  ain  wee 
Mysie  in  her  bosom. 

This  was  the  close.  She  sank  rapidly:  the 
delirium  left  her;  but,  as  she  whispered,  she  was 
"clean  silly;"  it  was  the  lightening  before  the  final 
darkness.  After  having  for  some  time  lain  still  — 
her  eyes  shut,  she  said  "James!"  He  came  close 
to  her,  and  lifting  up  her  calm,  clear,  beautiful 
eyes,  she  gave  him  a  long  look,  turned  to  me  kindly 
but  shortly,  looked  for  Rab  but  could  not  see  him, 
then  turned  to  her  husband  again,  as  if  she  would 
never  leave  off  looking,  shut  her  eyes,  and  com- 
posed herself.  She  lay  for  some  time  breathing 
quick,  and  passed  away  so  gently,  that  when  we 
thought  she  was  gone,  James,  in  his  old-fashioned 
way,  held  the  mirror  to  her  face.  After  a  long  pause, 
one  small  spot  of  dimness  was  breathed  out;  it 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS 


233 


vanished  away,  and  never  returned,  leaving  the 
blank  clear  darkness  of  the  mirror  without  a  stain. 
"What  is  our  life?  it  is  even  a  vapor,  which  ap- 
peareth  for  a  little  time,  and  then  vanisheth  away." 

Rab  all  this  time  had  been  full  awake  and  motion- 
less: he  came  forward  beside  us ;  Ailie's  hand,  which 
James  had  held,  was  hanging  down;  it  was  soaked 
with  his  tears;  Rab  licked  it  all  over  carefully, 
looked  at  her,  and  returned  to  his  place  under  the 
table. 

James  and  I  sat,  I  don't  know  how  long,  but  for 
some  time, —  saying  nothing:  he  started  up 
abruptly,  and  with  some  noise  went  to  the  table, 
and  putting  his  right  fore  and  middle  fingers  each 
into  a  shoe,  pulled  them  out,  and  put  them  on, 
breaking  one  of  the  leather  latchets,  and  muttering 
in  anger,  "I  never  did  the  like  o'  that  afore !" 

I  believe  he  never  did;  not  after  either.  "Rab!" 
he  said  roughly,  and  pointing  with  his  thumb  to  the 
bottom  of  the  bed.  Rab  leapt  up,  and  settled  him- 
self; his  head  and  eye  to  the  dead  face.  "Maister 
John,  ye'll  wait  for  me,"  said  the  carrier;  and  disap- 
peared in  the  darkness,  thundering  down  stairs  in 
his  heavy  shoes.  I  ran  to  a  front  window:  there  he 
was,  already  round  the  house,  and  out  at  the  gate, 
fleeing  like  a  shadow. 

I  was  afraid  about  him,  and  yet  not  afraid;  so  I 
sat  down  beside  Rab,  and  being  wearied,  fell  asleep. 


234  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

I  awoke  from  a  sudden  noise  outside.  It  was  No- 
vember, and  there  had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow. 
Rab  was  in  statu  quo;  he  heard  the  noise  too,  and 
plainly  knew  it,  but  never  moved.  I  looked  out; 
and  there,  at  the  gate,  in  the  dim  morning  —  for 
the  sun  was  not  up,  was  Jess  and  the  cart, —  a  cloud 
of  steam  rising  from  the  old  mare.  I  did  not  see 
James;  he  was  already  at  the  door,  and  came  up  the 
stairs,  and  met  me.  It  was  less  than  three  hours 
since  he  left,  and  he  must  have  posted  out  —  who 
knows  how? —  to  Howgate,  full  nine  miles  off; 
yoked  Jess,  and  driven  her  astonished  into  town. 
He  had  an  armful  of  blankets,  and  was  streaming 
with  perspiration.  He  nodded  to  me,  spread  out  on 
the  floor  two  pairs  of  clean  old  blankets  having  at 
their  corners,  "A.  G.,  1796,"  in  large  letters  in  red 
worsted.  These  were  the  initials  of  Alison  Graeme, 
and  James  may  have  looked  in  at  her  from  without — 
himself  unseen  but  not  un thought  of  —  when  he 
was  "  wat,  wat,  and  weary,"  and  after  having  walked 
many  a  mile  over  the  hills,  may  have  seen  her  sitting, 
while  "a'  the  lave  were  sleepin';"  and  by  the  fire- 
light working  her  name  on  the  blankets,  for  her  ain 
James's  bed. 

He  motioned  Rab  down,  and  taking  his  wife  in 
his  arms,  laid  her  in  the  blankets,  and  happed  her 
carefully  and  firmly  up,  leaving  the  face  uncovered; 
and  then  lifting  her,  he  nodded  again  sharply  to  me, 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  235 

and  with  a  resolved  but  utterly  miserable  face,  strode 
along  the  passage,  and  down  stairs,  followed  by  Rab. 
I  followed  with  a  light;  but  he  didn't  need  it.  I 
went  out,  holding  stupidly  the  candle  in  my  hand 
in  the  calm  frosty  air;  we  were  soon  at  the  gate.  I 
could  have  helped  him,  but  I  saw  he  was  not  to  be 
meddled  with,  and  he  was  strong,  and  did  not  need 
it.  He  laid  her  down  as  tenderly,  as  safely,  as  he 
had  lifted  her  out  ten  days  before  —  as  tenderly  as 
when  he  had  her  first  in  his  arms  when  she  was  only 
"A.  G.," —  sorted  her,  leaving  the  beautiful  sealed 
face  open  to  the  heavens;  and  then  taking  Jess  by 
the  head,  he  moved  away.  He  did  not  notice  me, 
neither  did  Rab,  who  presided  behind  the  cart. 
I  stood  still  till  they  passed  through  the  long 
shadow  of  the  College,  and  turned  up  Nicolson 
Street.  I  heard  the  solitary  cart  sound  through  the 
streets  and  die  away  and  come  again;  and  I  returned 
thinking  of  that  company  going  up  Liberton  Brae, 
then  along  Roslin  Muir,  the  morning  light  touching 
the  Pentlands  and  making  them  like  onlooking 
ghosts;  then  down  the  hill  through  Auchindinny 
woods,  past  "haunted  Woodhouselee" ;  and  as  day- 
break came  sweeping  up  the  bleak  Lammermuirs, 
and  fell  on  his  own  door,  the  company  would  stop, 
and  James  would  take  the  key  and  lift  Ailie  up  again, 
laying  her  on  her  own  bed,  and,  having  put  Jess  up, 
would  return  with  Rab  and  shut  the  door. 


236  .  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

James  buried  his  wife,  with  his  neighbors  mourn- 
ing, Rab  inspecting  the  solemnity  from  a  distance. 
It  was  snow,  and  that  black  ragged  hole  would  look 
strange  in  the  midst  of  the  swelling  spotless  cushion 
of  white.  James  looked  after  everything;  then 
rather  suddenly  fell  ill  and  took  to  bed;  was  insen- 
sible when  the  doctor  came,  and  soon  died.  A  sort 
of  low  fever  was  prevailing  in  the  village,  and  his 
want  of  sleep,  his  exhaustion,  and  his  misery  made 
him  apt  to  take  it.  The  grave  was  not  difficult  to 
reopen.  A  fresh  fall  of  snow  had  again  made  all 
things  white  and  smooth;  Rab  once  more  looked 
on,  and  slunk  home  to  the  stable. 

And  what  of  Rab?  I  asked  for  him  the  next  week 
at  the  new  carrier  who  got  the  goodwill  of  James's 
business,  and  was  now  master  of  Jess  and  her  cart. 
"How's  Rab?"  He  put  me  off,  and  said  rather 
rudely,  "What's  your  business  wi'  the  dowg?"  I 
was  not  to  be  so  put  off.  "Where's  Rab?"  He, 
getting  confused  and  red,  and  intermeddling  with 
his  hair,  said,  "'Deed  sir,  Rab's  deid."  "Dead! 
what  did  he  die  of?"  "Well,  sir,"  said  he,  getting 
redder,  "he  didna  exactly  dee;  he  was  killed.  I 
had  to  brain  him  wi'  a  rack-pin;  there  was  nae  doin' 
wi'  him.  He  lay  in  the  treviss  wi'  the  mear,  and 
wadna  come  oot.  I  tempit  him  wi'  kail  and  meat, 
but  he  wad  tak  naething,  and  keepit  me  frae  feedin' 


RAB    AND    HIS    FRIENDS  237 

the  beast,  and  he  was  aye  gur  gurrin',  and  grup 
gruppin'  me  by  the  legs.  I  was  laith  to  make  awa 
wi'  the  auld  dowg,  his  like  wasna  atween  this  and 
Thornhill, —  but,  'deed,  sir,  I  could  dae  naething 
else."  I  believed  him.  Fit  end  for  Rab,  quick  and 
complete.  His  teeth  and  his  friends  gone,  why 
should  he  keep  the  peace  and  be  civil? 

He  was  buried  in  the  braeface,  near  the  burn,  the 
children  of  the  village,  his  companions,  who  used  to 
make  very  free  with  him  and  sit  on  his  ample 
stomach,  as  he  lay  half  asleep  at  the  door  in  the  sun 
—  watching  the  solemnity. 


HUNTED  DOWN 
BY   CHARLES  DICKENS 


HUNTED  DOWN 


MOST  of  us  see  some  romances  in  life.  In  my 
capacity  as  Chief  Manager  of  a  Life  Assurance 
Office,  I  think  I  have  within  the  ,last  thirty  years 
seen  more  romances  than  the  generality  of  men, 
however  unpromising  the  opportunity  may,  at 
first  sight,  seem. 

As  I  have  retired,  and  live  at  my  ease,  I  possess 
the  means  that  I  used  to  want,  of  considering 
what  I  have  seen,  at  leisure.  My  experiences 
have  a  more  remarkable  aspect,  so  reviewed,  than 
they  had  when  they  were  in  progress.  I  have 
come  home  from  the  Play  now,  and  can  recall  the 
scenes  of  the  Drama  upon  which  the  curtain  has 
fallen,  free  from  the  glare,  bewilderment,  and 
bustle  of  the  Theatre. 

Let  me  recall  one  of  these  Romances  of  the  real 
world. 

There  is  nothing  truer  than  physiognomy,  taken 
in  connection  with  manner.  The  art  of  reading 
that  book  of  which  Eternal  Wisdom  obliges  every 
human  creature  to  present  his  or  her  own  page 
with  the  individual  character  written  on  it,  is  a 
241 


242  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

difficult  one,  perhaps,  and  is  little  studied.  It  may 
require  some  natural  aptitude,  and  it  must  require 
(for  everything  does)  some  patience  and  some 
pains.  That  these  are  not  usually  given  to  it, — 
that  numbers  of  people  accept  a  few  stock  common- 
place expressions  of  the  face  as  the  whole  list  of 
characteristics,  and  neither  seek  nor  know  the 
refinements  that  are  truest, — that  You,  for  instance, 
give  a  great  deal  of  time  and  attention  to  the  read- 
ing of  music,  Greek,  Latin,  French,  Italian,  Hebrew, 
if  you  please,  and  do  not  qualify  yourself  to  read 
the  face  of  the  master  or  mistress  looking  over  your 
shoulder  teaching  it  to  you, —  I  assume  to  be  five 
hundred  times  more  probable  than  improbable. 
Perhaps  a  little  self-sufficiency  may  be  at  the  bottom 
of  this;  facial  expression  requires  no  study  from 
you,  you  think;  it  comes  by  nature  to  you  to  know 
enough  about  it,  and  you  are  not  to  be  taken  in. 

I  confess,  for  my  part,  that  I  have  been  taken  in, 
over  and  over  again.  I  have  been  taken  in  by 
acquaintances,  and  I  have  been  taken  in  (of  course) 
by  friends;  far  oftener  by  friends  than  by  any 
other  class  of  persons.  How  came  I  to  be  so  de- 
ceived? Had  I  quite  misread  their  faces? 

No.  Believe  me,  my  first  impression  of  those 
people,  founded  on  face  and  manner  alone,  was 
invariably  true.  My  mistake  was  in  suffering  them 
to  come  nearer  to  me  and  explain  themselves  away. 


HUNTED    DOWN 


II 


243 


THE  partition  which  separated  my  own  office  from 
our  general  outer  office  in  the  City  was  of  thick 
plate-glass.  I  could  see  through  it  what  passed  in 
the  outer  office,  without  hearing  a  word.  I  had  it 
put  up  in  place  of  a  wall  that  had  been  there  for 
years, —  ever  since  the  house  was  built.  It  is  no 
matter  whether  I  did  or  did  not  make  the  change 
in  order  that  I  might  derive  my  first  impression  of 
strangers,  who  came  to  us  on  business,  from  their 
faces  alone,  without  being  influenced  by  anything 
they  said.  Enough  to  mention  that  I  turned  my 
glass  partition  to  that  account,  and  that  a  Life 
Assurance  Office  is  at  all  times  exposed  to  be 
practised  upon  by  the  most  crafty  and  cruel  of  the 
human  race. 

It  was  through  my  glass  partition  that  I  first 
saw  the  gentleman  whose  story  I  am  going  to  tell. 

He  had  come  in  without  my  observing  it,  and 
had  put  his  hat  and  umbrella  on  the  broad  counter, 
and  was  bending  over  it  to  take  some  papers  from 
one  of  the  clerks.  He  was  about  forty  or  so, 
dark,  exceedingly  well  dressed  in  black, —  being 
in  mourning, —  and  the  hand  he  extended  with  a 
polite  air,  had  a  particularly  well-fitting  black-kid 
glove  upon  it.  His  hair,  which  was  elaborately 
brushed  and  oiled,  was  parted  straight  up  the 


244  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

middle;  and  he  presented  this  parting  to  the  clerk, 
exactly  (to  my  thinking)  as  if  he  had  said,  in  so 
many  words:  "You  must  take  me,  if  you  please, 
my  friend,  just  as  I  show  myself.  Come  straight 
up  here,  follow  the  gravel  path,  keep  off  the  grass, 
I  allow  no  trespassing." 

I  conceived  a  very  great  aversion  to  that  man 
the  moment  I  thus  saw  him. 

He  had  asked  for  some  of  our  printed  forms, 
and  the  clerk  was  giving  them  to  him  and  explain- 
ing them.  An  obliged  and  agreeable  smile  was  on 
his  face,  and  his  eyes  met  those  of  the  clerk  with 
a  sprightly  look.  (I  have  known  a  vast  quantity 
of  nonsense  talked  about  bad  men  not  looking  you 
in  the  face.  Don't  trust  that  conventional  idea. 
Dishonesty  will  stare  honesty  out  of  countenance, 
any  day  in  the  week,  if  there  is  anything  to  be  got 
by  it.) 

I  saw,  in  the  corner  of  his  eyelash,  that  he  became 
aware  of  my  looking  at  him.  Immediately  he 
turned  the  parting  in  his  hair  toward  the  glass 
partition,  as  if  he  said  to  me  with  a  sweet  smile, 
"Straight  up  here,  if  you  please.  Off  the  grass!" 

In  a  few  moments  he  had  put  on  his  hat  and 
taken  up  his  umbrella,  and  was  gone. 

I  beckoned  the  clerk  into  my  room,  and  asked, 
"  Who  was  that?" 

He  had  the  gentleman's  card  in  his  hand.  "Mr. 
Julius  Slinkton,  Middle  Temple." 


HUNTED    DOWN  245 

"A  barrister,  Mr.  Adams?" 

"I  think  not,  sir." 

"I  should  have  thought  him  a  clergyman,  but 
for  his  having  no  Reverend  here,"  said  I. 

"  Probably,  from  his  appearance,"  Mr.  Adams 
replied,  "he  is  reading  for  orders." 

I  should  mention  that  he  wore  a  dainty  white 
cravat,  and  dainty  linen  altogether. 

"What  did  he  want,  Mr.  Adams?" 

"Merely  a  form  of  proposal,  sir,  and  form  of 
reference." 

"  Recommended  here?    Did  he  say?" 

"Yes,  he  said  he  was  recommended  here  by  a 
friend  of  yours.  He  noticed  you,  but  said  that  as 
he  had  not  the  pleasure  of  your  personal  acquaint- 
ance he  would  not  trouble  you." 

"Did  he  know  my  name?" 

"O  yes,  sir!  He  said,  'There  is  Mr.  Sampson, 
I  see!'  " 

"A  well-spoken  gentleman,  apparently?" 

"Remarkably  so,  sir." 

"Insinuating  manners,  apparently?" 

"Very  much  so,  indeed,  sir." 

"Hah!"  said  I.  "I  want  nothing  at  present, 
Mr.  Adams." 

Within  a  fortnight  of  that  day  I  went  to  dine 
with  a  friend  of  mine,  a  merchant,  a  man  of  taste, 
who  buys  pictures  and  books;  and  the  first  man 


246  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

I  saw  among  the  company  was  Mr.  Julius  Slinkton. 
There  he  was,  standing  before  the  fire,  with  good 
large  eyes  and  an  open  expression  of  face;  but 
still  (I  thought)  requiring  everybody  to  come  at 
him  by  the  prepared  way  he  offered,  and  by  no 
other. 

I  noticed  him  ask  my  friend  to  introduce  him 
to  Mr.  Sampson,  and  my  friend  did  so.  Mr. 
Slinkton  was  very  happy  to  see  me.  Not  too 
happy;  there  was  no  over-doing  of  the  matter; 
happy  in  a  thoroughly  well-bred,  perfectly  un- 
meaning way. 

"I  thought  you  had  met,"  our  host  observed. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Slinkton.  "I  did  look  in  at 
Mr.  Sampson's  office,  on  your  recommendation; 
but  I  really  did  not  feel  justified  in  troubling  Mr. 
Sampson  himself,  on  a  point  in  the  everyday 
routine  of  an  ordinary  clerk." 

I  said  I  should  have  been  glad  to  show  him  any 
attention  on  our  friend's  introduction. 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  he,  "and  am  much 
obliged.  At  another  time,  perhaps,  I  may  be  less 
delicate.  Only,  however,  if  I  have  real  business; 
for  I  know,  Mr.  Sampson,  how  precious  business 
time  is,  and  what  a  vast  number  of  impertinent 
people  there  are  in  the  world." 

I  acknowledged  his  consideration  with  a  slight 
bow.  "You  were  thinking,"  said  I,  "of  effecting 
a  policy  on  your  life?" 


HUNTED    DOWN 


247 


"O  dear,  no!  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  so  prudent 
as  you  pay  me  the  compliment  of  supposing  me  to 
be,  Mr.  Sampson.  I  merely  inquired  for  a  friend. 
But  you  know  what  friends  are  in  such  matters. 
Nothing  may  ever  come  of  it.  I  have  the  greatest 
reluctance  to  trouble  men  of  business  with  in- 
quiries for  friends,  knowing  the  probabilities  to 
be  a  thousand  to  one  that  the  friends  will  never 
follow  them  up.  People  are  so  fickle,  so  selfish, 
so  inconsiderate.  Don't  you,  in  your  business, 
find  them  so  every  day,  Mr.  Sampson?" 

I  was  going  to  give  a  qualified  answer;  but  he 
turned  his  smooth,  white  parting  on  me  with  its 
"Straight  up  here,  if  you  please!"  and  I  answered 
"Yes." 

"I  hear,  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  resumed  presently, 
for  our  friend  had  a  new  cook,  and  dinner  was  not 
so  punctual  as  usual,  "that  your  profession  has 
recently  suffered  a  great  loss." 

"In  money?"    said  I. 

He  laughed  at  my  ready  association  of  loss  with 
money,  and  replied,  "No,  in  talent  and  vigor." 

Not  at  once  following  out  his  allusion,  I  con- 
sidered for  a  moment.  "Has  it  sustained  a  loss 
of  that  kind!"  said  I.  "I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

"Understand  me,  Mr.  Sampson.  I  don't  imagine 
that  you  have  retired.  It  is  not  so  bad  as  that. 
But  Mr.  Meltham—  " 


248  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"O,  to  be  sure!"  said  I.  "Yes!  Mr.  Meltham. 
the  young  actuary  of  the  'Inestimable.'  ' 

"Just  so,"  he  returned  in  a  consoling  way. 

"He  is  a  great  loss.  He  was  at  once  the  most 
profound,  the  most  original,  and  the  most  ener- 
getic man  I  have  ever  known  connected  with  Life 
Assurance." 

I  spoke  strongly;  for  I  had  a  high  esteem  and 
admiration  for  Meltham;  and  my  gentleman  had 
indefinitely  conveyed  to  me  some  suspicion  that 
he  wanted  to  sneer  at  him.  He  recalled  me  to 
my  guard  by  presenting  that  trim  pathway  up  his 
head,  with  its  infernal  "Not  on  the  grass,  if  you 
please  —  the  gravel." 

"You  knew  him,  Mr.  Slinkton?" 

"Only  by  reputation.  To  have  known  him  as 
an  acquaintance,  or  as  a  friend,  is  an  honor  I 
should  have  sought  if  he  had  remained  in  society, 
though  I  might  never  have  had  the  good  fortune 
to  attain  it,  being  a  man  of  far  inferior  mark.  He 
was  scarcely  above  thirty,  I  suppose?" 

"About  thirty." 

"Ah!"  he  sighed  in  his  former  consoling  way. 
"What  creatures  we  are!  To  break  up,  Mr. 
Sampson,  and  become  incapable  of  business  at 
that  time  of  life!  —  Any  reason  assigned  for  the 
melancholy  fact?" 

("Humph!"    thought  I,   as  I  looked   at  him. 


HUNTED    DOWN 


249 


"  But  I  WON'T  go  up  the  track,  and  I  WILL  go  on 
the  grass.") 

"What  reason  have  you  heard  assigned,  Mr. 
Slinkton?"  I  asked,  point-blank. 

"Most  likely  a  false  one.  You  know  what 
Rumor  is,  Mr.  Sampson.  I  never  repeat  what  I 
hear;  it  is  the  only  way  of  paring  the  nails  and 
shaving  the  head  of  Rumor.  But  when  you  ask 
me  what  reason  I  have  heard  assigned  for  Mr. 
Meltham's  passing  away  from  among  men,  it  is 
another  thing.  I  am  not  gratifying  idle  gossip 
then.  I  was  told,  Mr.  Sampson,  that  Mr.  Meltham 
had  relinquished  all  his  avocations  and  all  his 
prospects,  because  he  was,  in  fact,  broken-hearted. 
A  disappointed  attachment  I  heard, —  though  it 
hardly  seems  probable,  in  the  case  of  a  man  so 
distinguished  and  so  attractive." 

"Attractions  and  distinctions  are  no  armor 
against  death,"  said  I. 

"O,  she  died?  Pray  pardon  me.  I  did  not  hear 
that.  That,  indeed,  makes  it  very,  very  sad. 
Poor  Mr.  Meltham!  She  died?  Ah,  dear  me! 
Lamentable,  lamentable ! " 

I  still  thought  his  pity  was  not  quite  genuine, 
and  I  still  suspected  an  unaccountable  sneer  under 
all  this,  until  he  said,  as  we  were  parted,  like  the 
other  knots  of  talkers,  by  the  announcement  of 
dinner: 


250  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

"Mr.  Sampson,  you  are  surprised  to  see  me  so 
moved  on  behalf  of  a  man  whom  I  have  never 
known.  I  am  not  so  disinterested  as  you  may 
suppose.  I  have  suffered,  and  recently  too,  from 
death  myself.  I  have  lost  one  of  two  charming 
nieces,  who  were  my  constant  companions.  She 
died  young  —  barely  three-and- twenty;  and  even 
her  remaining  sister  is  far  from  strong.  The 
world  is  a  grave!" 

He  said  this  with  deep  feeling,  and  I  felt  re- 
proached for  the  coldness  of  my  manner.  Coldness 
and  distrust  had  been  engendered  in  me,  I  knew, 
by  my  bad  experiences;  they  were  not  natural  to  me; 
and  I  often  thought  how  much  I  had  lost  in  life, 
losing  trustfulness,  and  how  little  I  had  gained, 
gaining  hard  caution.  This  state  of  mind  being 
habitual  to  me,  I  troubled  myself  more  about  this 
conversation  than  I  might  have  troubled  myself 
about  a  greater  matter.  I  listened  to  his  talk  at 
dinner,  and  observed  how  readily  other  men 
responded  to  it,  and  with  what  a  graceful  instinct 
he  adapted  his  subjects  to  the  knowledge  and 
habits  of  those  he  talked  with.  As,  in  talking  with 
me,  he  had  easily  started  the  subject  I  might  be 
supposed  to  understand  best,  and  to  be  the  most 
interested  in,  so,  in  talking  with  others,  he  guided 
himself  by  the  same  rule.  The  company  was  of  a 
varied  character;  but  he  was  not  at  fault,  that  I 


HUNTED    DOWN 


251 


could  discover,  with  any  member  of  it.  He  knew 
just  as  much  of  each  man's  pursuit  as  made  him 
agreeable  to  that  man  in  reference  to  it,  and  just 
as  little  as  made  it  natural  in  him  to  seek  modestly 
for  information  when  the  theme  was  broached. 

As  he  talked  and  talked  —  but  really  not  too 
much,  for  the  rest  of  us  seemed  to  force  it  upon 
him  —  I  became  quite  angry  with  myself.  I  took 
his  face  to  pieces  in  my  mind,  like  a  watch,  and 
examined  it  in  detail.  I  could  not  say  much  against 
any  of  his  features  separately;  I  could  say  even 
less  against  them  when  they  were  put  together. 
''Then  is  it  not  monstrous,"  I  asked  myself,  "that 
because  a  man  happens  to  part  his  hair  straight  up 
the  middle  of  his  head,  I  should  permit  myself  to 
suspect,  and  even  to  detest  him?" 

(I  may  stop  to  remark  that  this  was  one  proof  of 
my  sense.  An  observer  of  men  who  finds  himself 
steadily  repelled  by  some  apparently  trifling  thing 
in  a  stranger  is  right  to  give  it  great  weight.  It 
may  be  the  clue  to  the  whole  mystery.  A  hair  or 
two  will  show  where  a  lion  is  hidden.  A  very 
little  key  will  open  a  very  heavy  door.) 

I  took  my  part  in  the  conversation  with  him 
after  a  time,  and  we  got  on  remarkably  well.  In 
the  drawing-room  I  asked  the  host  how  long  he 
had  known  Mr.  Slinkton.  He  answered,  not 
many  months;  he  had  met  him  at  the  house  of  a 


252  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

celebrated  painter  then  present,  who  had  known 
him  well  when  he  was  travelling  with  his  nieces 
in  Italy  for  their  health.  His  plans  in  life  being 
broken  by  the  death  of  one  of  them,  he  was  reading 
with  the  intention  of  going  back  to  college  as  a 
matter  of  form,  taking  his  degree,  and  going  into 
orders.  I  could  not  but  argue  with  myself  that 
here  was  the  true  explanation  of  his  interest  in  poor 
Meltham,  and  that  I  had  been  almost  brutal  in  my 
distrust  on  that  simple  head. 


in 


ON  the  very  next  day  but  one  I  was  sitting  behind 
my  glass  partition,  as  before,  when  he  came  into 
the  outer  office,  as  before.  The  moment  I  saw 
him  again  without  hearing  him,  I  hated  him  worse 
than  ever. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  I  had  this  oppor- 
tunity; for  he  waved  his  tight-fitting  black  glove 
the  instant  I  looked  at  him,  and  came  straight  in. 

"Mr.  Sampson,  good-day!  I  presume,  you 
see,  upon  your  kind  permission  to  intrude  upon 
you.  I  don't  keep  my  word  in  being  justified  by 
business,  for  my  business  here  —  if  I  may  so  abuse 
the  word  —  is  of  the  slightest  nature." 

I  asked,  was  it  anything  I  could  assist  him  in? 

"I  thank  you,  no.     I  merely  called  to  inquire 


HUNTED    DOWN  253 

outside  whether  my  dilatory  friend  had  been  so 
false  to  himself  as  to  be  practical  and  sensible. 
But,  of  course,  he  has  done  nothing.  I  gave  him 
your  papers  with  my  own  hand,  and  he  was  hot 
upon  the  intention,  but  of  course  he  has  done 
nothing.  Apart  from  the  general  human  dis- 
inclination to  do  anything  that  ought  to  be  done, 
I  dare  say  there  is  a  speciality  about  assuring  one's 
life.  You  find  it  like  will-making.  People  are 
so  superstitious,  and  take  it  for  granted  they  will 
die  soon  afterwards." 

"Up  here,  it  you  please;  straight  up  here,  Mr. 
Sampson.  Neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left."  I 
almost  fancied  I  could  hear  him  breathe  the  words 
as  he  sat  smiling  at  me,  with  that  intolerable  parting 
exactly  opposite  the  bridge  of  my  nose. 

"There  is  such  a  feeling  sometimes,  no  doubt," 
I  replied;  "but  I  don't  think  it  obtains  to  any 
great  extent." 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  a  shrug  and  a  smile,  "I 
wish  some  good  angel  would  influence  my  friend 
in  the  right  direction.  I  rashly  promised  his  mother 
and  sister  in  Norfolk  to  see  it  done,  and  he  promised 
them  that  he  would  do  it.  But  I  suppose  he  never 
will." 

He  spoke  for  a  minute  or  two  on  indifferent 
topics,  and  went  away. 

I   had   scarcely    unlocked    the   drawers   of   my 


254  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

writing-table  next  morning,  when  he  reappeared. 
I  noticed  that  he  came  straight  to  the  door  in  the 
glass  partition,  and  did  not  pause  a  single  moment 
outside. 

"Can  you  spare  me  two  minutes,  my  dear  Mr. 
Sampson?  " 

"By  all  means." 

"Much  obliged/'  laying  his  hat  and  umbrella 
on  the  table;  "I  came  early,  not  to  interrupt  you. 
The  fact  is,  I  am  taken  by  surprise  in  reference  to 
this  proposal  my  friend  has  made." 

"Has  he  made  one?"  said  I. 

"Ye-es,"  he  answered,  deliberately  looking  at 
me;  and  then  a  bright  idea  seemed  to  strike  him 
— "or  he  only  tells  me  he  has.  Perhaps  that 
may  be  a  new  way  of  evading  the  matter.  By 
Jupiter,  I  never  thought  of  that!" 

Mr.  Adams  was  opening  the  morning's  letters 
in  the  outer  office.  "What  is  the  name,  Mr. 
Slinkton?"  I  asked. 

"Beckwith." 

I  looked  out  at  the  door  and  requested  Mr. 
Adams,  if  there  were  a  proposal  in  that  name,  to 
bring  it  in.  He  had  already  laid  it  out  of  his  hand 
on  the  counter.  It  was  easily  selected  from  the 
rest,  and  he  gave  it  me.  Alfred  Beckwith.  Proposal 
to  effect  a  policy  with  us  for  two  thousand  pounds. 
Dated  yesterday 


HUNTED    DOWN  255 

"From  the  Middle  Temple,  I  see,  Mr.  Slinkton." 

"Yes.  He  lives  on  the  same  staircase  with  me; 
his  door  is  opposite.  I  never  thought  he  would 
make  me  his  reference,  though." 

"It  seems  natural  enough  that  he  should." 

"Quite  so,  Mr.  Sampson;  but  I  never  thought 
of  it.  Let  me  see."  He  took  the  printed  paper 
from  his  pocket.  "How  am  I  to  answer  all  these 
questions?" 

"According   to  the   truth,   of  course,"   said  I. 

"O,  of  course!"  he  answered,  looking  up  from 
the  paper  with  a  smile;  "I  meant  they  were  so 
many.  But  you  do  right  to  be  particular.  It 
stands  to  reason  that  you  must  be  particular. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  use  your  pen  and  ink?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  your  desk?" 

"Certainly." 

He  had  been  hovering  about  between  his  hat 
and  his  umbrella  for  a  place  to  write  on.  He  now 
sat  down  in  my  chair,  at  my  blotting-paper  and 
inkstand,  with  the  long  walk  up  his  head  in  accurate 
perspective  before  me,  as  I  stood  with  my  back  to 
the  fire. 

Before  answering  each  question  he  ran  over  it 
aloud,  and  discussed  it.  How  long  had  he  known 
Mr.  Alfred  Beckwith?  That  he  had  to  calculate 
by  years  upon  his  fingers.  What  were  his  habits? 


256  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

No  difficulty  about  them;  temperate  in  the  last 
degree,  and  took  a  little  too  much  exercise,  if 
anything.  All  the  answers  were  satisfactory. 
When  he  had  written  them  all,  he  looked  them 
over,  and  finally  signed  them  in  a  very  pretty 
hand.  He  supposed  he  had  now  done  with  the 
business.  I  told  him  he  was  not  likely  to  be  troubled 
any  farther.  Should  he  leave  the  papers  there? 
If  he  pleased.  Much  obliged.  Good  morning. 

I  had  had  one  other  visitor  before  him;  not  at 
the  office,  but  at  my  own  house.  That  visitor 
had  come  to  my  bedside  when  it  was  not  yet  day- 
light, and  had  been  seen  by  no  one  else  but  my 
faithful  confidential  servant. 

A  second  reference  paper  (for  we  required  always 
two)  was  sent  down  into  Norfolk,  and  was  duly 
received  back  by  post.  This,  likewise,  was  satis- 
factorily answered  in  every  respect.  Our  forms 
were  all  complied  with;  we  accepted  the  proposal, 
and  the  premium  for  one  year  was  paid. 


IV 


FOR  six  or  seven  months  I  saw  no  more  of  Mr. 
Slinkton.  He  called  once  at  my  house,  but  I  was 
not  at  home;  and  he  once  asked  me  to  dine  with 
him  in  the  Temple,  but  I  was  engaged.  His  friend's 
assurance  was  effected  in  March.  Late  in  September 


HUNTED    DOWN  257 

pr  early  in  October  I  was  down  at  Scarborough  for 
a  breath  of  sea-air,  where  I  met  him  on  the  beach. 
It  was  a  hot  evening;  he  came  toward  me  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand;  and  there  was  the  walk  I  had 
felt  so  strongly  disinclined  to  take  in  perfect  order 
again,  exactly  in  front  of  the  bridge  of  my  nose. 

He  was  not  alone,  but  had  a  young  lady  on  his 
arm. 

She  was  dressed  in  mourning,  and  I  looked  at 
her  with  great  interest.  She  had  the  appearance 
of  being  extremely  delicate,  and  her  face  was 
remarkably  pale  and  melancholy;  but  she  was 
very  pretty.  He  introduced  her  as  his  niece, 
Miss  Niner. 

"Are  you  strolling,  Mr.  Sampson?  Is  it  possible 
you  can  be  idle?  " 

It  was  possible,  and  I  was  strolling. 

"Shall  we  stroll  together?" 

"With  pleasure." 

The  young  lady  walked  between  us,  and  we 
walked  on  the  cool  sea  sand,  in  the  direction  of 
Filey. 

"There  have  been  wheels  here,"  said  Mr.  Slink- 
ton.  "And  now  I  look  again,  the  wheels  of  a 
hand-carriage!  Margaret,  my  love,  your  shadow 
without  doubt!" 

"Miss  Niner's  shadow?"  I  repeated,  looking 
down  at  it  on  the  sand. 


258  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

"Not  that  one,"  Mr.  Slinkton  returned,  laugh- 
ing. "  Margaret,  my  dear,  tell  Mr.  Sampson." 

"Indeed,"  said  the  young  lady,  turning  to  me, 
"there  is  nothing  to  tell  —  except  that  I  constantly 
see  the  same  invalid  old  gentleman  at  all  times, 
wherever  I  go.  I  have  mentioned  it  to  my  uncle, 
and  he  calls  the  gentleman  my  shadow." 

"Does  he  live  in  Scarborough?"  I  asked. 

"He  is  staying  here." 

"Do  you  live  in  Scarborough?" 

"No,  I  am  staying  here.  My  uncle  has  placed 
me  with  a  family  here,  for  my  health." 

"And  your  shadow?"  said  I,  smiling. 

"My  shadow,"  she  answered,  smiling  too,  "is 
-  like  myself  —  not  very  robust,  I  fear;  for  I  lose 
my  shadow  sometimes,  as  my  shadow  loses  me  at 
other  times.  We  both  seem  liable  to  confinement 
to  the  house.  I  have  not  seen  my  shadow  for  days 
and  days;  but  it  does  oddly  happen,  occasionally, 
that  wherever  I  go,  for  many  days  together,  this 
gentleman  goes.  We  have  come  together  in  the 
most  unfrequented  nooks  on  this  shore." 

"Is  this  he?"   said  I,  pointing  before  us. 

The  wheels  had  swept  down  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  described  a  great  loop  on  the  sand  in  turning. 
Bringing  the  loop  back  towards  us,  and  spinning 
it  out  as  it  came,  was  a  hand-carriage,  drawn  by  a 
man. 


HUNTED    DOWN  259 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Niner,  "this  really  is  my 
shadow,  uncle." 

As  the  carriage  approached  us  and  we  approached 
the  carriage,  I  saw  within  it  an  old  man,  whose 
head  was  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  who  was  en- 
veloped in  a  variety  of  wrappers.  He  was  drawn 
by  a  very  quiet  but  very  keen-looking  man,  with 
iron-gray  hair,  who  was  slightly  lame.  They  had 
passed  us,  when  the  carriage  stopped,  and  the  old 
gentleman  within,  putting  out  his  arm,  called  to  me 
by  my  name.  I  went  back,  and  was  absent  from 
Mr.  Slinkton  and  his  niece  for  about  five  minutes. 

When  I  rejoined  them,  Mr.  Slinkton  was  the 
first  to  speak.  Indeed,  he  said  to  me  in  a  raised 
voice  before  I  came  up  with  him: 

"It  is  well  you  have  not  been  longer,  or  my 
niece  might  have  died  of  curiosity  to  know  who 
her  shadow  is,  Mr.  Sampson." 

"An  old  East  India  Director,"  said  I.  "An 
intimate  friend  of  our  friend's,  at  whose  house  I 
first  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you.  A  certain 
Major  Banks.  You  have  heard  of  him?" 

"Never." 

"Very  rich,  Miss  Niner;  but  very  old,  and 
very  crippled.  An  amiable  man,  sensible  —  much 
interested  in  you.  He  has  just  been  expatiating 
on  the  affection  that  he  has  observed  to  exist 
between  you  and  your  uncle." 


260  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Mr.  Slinkton  was  holding  his  hat  again,  and  he 
passed  his  hand  up  the  straight  walk,  as  if  he 
himself  went  up  it  serenely,  after  me. 

"Mr.  Sampson,"  he  said,  tenderly  pressing  his 
niece's  arm  in  his,  "our  affection  was  always  a 
strong  one,  for  we  have  had  but  few  near  ties. 
We  have  still  fewer  now.  We  have  associations 
to  bring  us  together,  that  are  not  of  this  world, 
Margaret." 

"Dear  uncle!"  murmured  the  young  lady,  and 
turned  her  face  aside  to  hide  her  tears. 

"My  niece  and  I  have  such  remembrances  and 
regrets  in  common,  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  feelingly 
pursued,  "that  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if  the 
relations  between  us  were  cold  or  indifferent.  If 
I  remember  a  conversation  we  once  had  together, 
you  will  understand  the  reference  I  make.  Cheer 
up,  dear  Margaret.  Don't  droop,  don't  droop. 
My  Margaret!  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  droop!" 

The  poor  young  lady  was  very  much  affected, 
but  controlled  herself.  His  feelings,  too,  were 
very  acute.  In  a  word,  he  found  himself  under 
such  great  need  of  a  restorative,  that  he  presently 
went  away,  to  take  a  bath  of  sea-water,  leaving 
the  young  lady  and  me  sitting  by  a  point  of  rock, 
and  probably  presuming  —  but  that  you  will  say 
was  a  pardonable  indulgence  in  a  luxury  —  that 
she  would  praise  him  with  all  her  heart. 


HUNTED    DOWN  26l 

She  did,  poor  thing!  With  all  her  confiding 
heart,  she  praised  him  to  me,  for  his  care  of  her 
dead  sister,  and  for  his  untiring  devotion  in  her 
last  illness.  The  sister  had  wasted  away  very 
slowly,  and  wild  and  terrible  fantasies  had  come 
over  her  toward  the  end,  but  he  had  never  been 
impatient  with  her,  or  at  a  loss;  had  always  been 
gentle,  watchful,  and  self-possessed.  The  sister 
had  known  him,  as  she  had  known  him,  to  be  the 
best  of  men,  the  kindest  of  men,  and  yet  a  man  of 
such  admirable  strength  of  character,  as  to  be  a 
very  tower  for  the  support  of  their  weak  natures 
while  their  poor  lives  endured. 

"I  shall  leave  him,  Mr.  Sampson,  very  soon," 
said  the  young  lady;  "I  know  my  life  is  drawing  to 
an  end;  and  when  I  am  gone,  I  hope  he  will  marry 
and  be  happy.  I  am  sure  he  has  lived  single  so  long, 
only  for  my  sake,  and  for  my  poor,  poor  sister's." 

The  little  hand-carriage  had  made  another  great 
loop  on  the  damp  sand,  and  was  coming  back 
again,  gradually  spinning  out  a  slim  figure  of 
eight,  half  a  mile  long. 

"  Young  lady,"  said  I,  looking  around,  laying 
my  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  speaking  in  a  low 
voice,  "time  presses.  You  hear  the  gentle  murmur 
of  that  sea?" 

She  looked  at  me  with  the  utmost  wonder  and 
alarm,  saying, 


262  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

"Yes!" 

"And  you  know  what  a  voice  is  in  it  when  the 
storm  comes?" 

"Yes!" 

"You  see  how  quiet  and  peaceful  it  lies  before 
us,  and  you  know  what  an  awful  sight  of  power 
without  pity  it  might  be,  this  very  night!" 

"Yes!" 

"But  if  you  had  never  heard  or  seen  it,  or  heard 
of  it  in  its  cruelty,  could  you  believe  that  it  beats 
every  inanimate  thing  in  its  way  to  pieces,  without 
mercy,  and  destroys  life  without  remorse?  " 

"You  terrify  me,  sir,  by  these  questions!" 

"To  save  you,  young  lady,  to  save  you!  For 
God's  sake,  collect  your  strength  and  collect  your 
firmness!  If  you  were  here  alone,  and  hemmed  in 
by  the  rising  tide  on  the  flow  to  fifty  feet  above 
your  head,  you  could  not  be  in  greater  danger 
than  the  danger  you  are  now  to  be  saved  from." 

The  figure  on  the  sand  was  spun  out,  and  straggled 
off  into  a  crooked  little  jerk  that  ended  at  the  cliff 
very  near  us. 

"As  I  am,  before  Heaven  and  the  judge  of  all 
mankind,  your  friend,  and  your  dead  sister's  friend, 
I  solemnly  entreat  you,  Miss  Niner,  without  one 
moment's  loss  of  time,  to  come  to  this  gentleman 
with  me!" 

If  the  little  carriage  had  been  less  near  to  us7 


HUNTED    DOWN  263 

I  doubt  if  I  could  have  got  her  away;  but  it  was 
so  near  that  we  were  there  before  she  had  recovered 
the  hurry  of  being  urged  from  the  rock.  I  did  not 
remain  there  with  her  two  minutes.  Certainly 
within  five,  I  had  the  inexpressible  satisfaction 
of  seeing  her  —  from  the  point  we  had  sat  on,  and 
to  which  I  had  returned  —  half  supported  and 
half  carried  up  some  rude  steps  notched  in  the 
cliff,  by  the  figure  of  an  active  man.  With  that 
figure  beside  her,  I  knew  she  was  safe  anywhere. 

I  sat  alone  on  the  rock,  awaiting  Mr.  Slinkton's 
return.  The  twilight  was  deepening  and  the 
shadows  were  heavy,  when  he  came  round  the 
point,  with  his  hat  hanging  at  his  button-hole, 
smoothing  his  wet  hair  with  one  of  his  hands,  and 
picking  out  the  old  path  with  the  other  and  a 
pocket-comb. 

"My  niece  not  here,  Mr.  Sampson?"  he  said, 
looking  about. 

"Miss  Niner  seemed  to  feel  a  chill  in  the  air 
after  the  sun  was  down,  and  has  gone  home." 

He  looked  surprised,  as  though  she  were  not 
accustomed  to  do  anything  without  him;  even  to 
originate  so  slight  a  proceeding. 

"I  persuaded  Miss  Niner,"  I  explained. 

"Ah!"     said  he.     "She  is  easily  persuaded  — 
for  her  good.     Thank  you,  Mr.  Sampson;    she  is 
better    within    doors.      The    bathing-place    was 
farther  than  I  thought,  to  say  the  truth." 


264  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"Miss  Niner  is  very  delicate/'  I  observed. 

He  shook  his  head  and  drew  a  deep  sigh.  "Very, 
very,  very.  You  may  recollect  my  saying  so.  The 
time  that  has  since  intervened  has  not  strengthened 
her.  The  gloomy  shadow  that  fell  upon  her  sister 
so  early  in  life  seems,  in  my  anxious  eyes,  to  gather 
over  her,  ever  darker,  ever  darker.  Dear  Margaret, 
dear  Margaret!  But  we  must  hope." 

The  hand-carriage  was  spinning  away  before  us 
at  a  most  indecorous  pace  for  an  invalid  vehicle, 
and  was  making  most  irregular  curves  upon  the 
sand.  Mr.  Slinkton,  noticing  it  after  he  had  put 
his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes,  said: 

"If  I  may  judge  from  appearances,  your  friend 
will  be  upset,  Mr.  Sampson." 

"It  looks  probable,  certainly,"  said  I. 

"The  servant  must  be  drunk." 

"The  servants  of  old  gentlemen  will  get  drunk 
sometimes,"  said  I. 

"The  major  draws  very  light,  Mr.  Sampson." 

"The  major  does  draw  light,"  said  I. 

By  this  time  the  carriage,  much  to  my  relief,  was 
lost  in  the  darkness.  We  walked  on  for  a  little,  side 
by  side  over  the  sand,  in  silence.  After  a  short 
while  he  said,  in  a  voice  still  affected  by  the  emotion 
that  his  niece's  state  of  health  had  awakened  in  him, 

"Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Sampson?" 

"Why,  no.    I  am  going  away  to-night." 


HUNTED    DOWN  265 

"So  soon?  But  business  always  holds  you  in 
request.  Men  like  Mr.  Sampson  are  too  impor- 
tant to  others,  to  be  spared  to  their  own  need  of 
relaxation  and  enjoyment." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  I.  "However, 
I  am  going  back." 

"To  London?" 

"To  London." 

"I  shall  be  there  too,  soon  after  you." 

I  knew  that  as  well  as  he  did.  But  I  did  not 
tell  him  so.  Any  more  than  I  told  him  what 
defensive  weapon  my  right  hand  rested  on  in  my 
pocket,  as  I  walked  by  his  side.  Any  more  than 
I  told  him  why  I  did  not  walk  on  the  sea  side 
of  him  with  the  night  closing  in. 

We  left  the  beach,  and  our  ways  diverged.  We 
exchanged  good-night,  and  had  parted  indeed, 
when  he  said,  returning, 

"Mr.  Sampson,  may  I  ask?  Poor  Meltham, 
whom  we  spoke  of, —  dead  yet?  " 

"Not  when  I  last  heard  of  him;  but  too  broken 
a  man  to  live  long,  and  hopelessly  lost  to  his  old 
calling." 

"Dear,  dear,  dear!"  said  he,  with  great  feeling. 
"Sad,  sad,  sad!  The  world  is  a  grave!"  And 
so  went  his  way. 

It  was  not  his  fault  if  the  world  were  not  a 
grave;  but  I  did  not  call  that  observation  after 


266  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

him,  any  more  than  I  had  mentioned  those  other 
things  just  now  enumerated.  He  went  his  way, 
and  I  went  mine  with  all  expedition.  This  hap- 
pened, as  I  have  said,  either  at  the  end  of  September 
or  beginning  of  October.  The  next  time  I  saw  him, 
and  the  last  time,  was  late  in  November. 


I  HAD  a  very  particular  engagement  to  breakfast  in 
the  Temple.  It  was  a  bitter  north-easterly  morn- 
ing, and  the  sleet  and  slush  lay  inches  deep  in  the 
streets.  I  could  get  no  conveyance,  and  was  soon 
wet  to  the  knees;  but  I  should  have  been  true  to 
that  appointment,  though  I  had  to  wade  to  it  up 
to  my  neck  in  the  same  impediments. 

The  appointment  took  me  to  some  chambers  in 
the  Temple.  They  were  at  the  top  of  a  lonely 
corner  house  overlooking  the  river.  The  name, 
MR.  ALFRED  BECKWITH,  was  painted  on  the  outer 
door.  On  the  door  opposite,  on  the  same  landing, 
the  name,  MR.  JULIUS  SLINKTON.  The  doors  of  both 
sets  of  chambers  stood  open,  so  that  anything  said 
aloud  in  one  set  could  be  heard  in  the  other. 

I  had  never  been  in  those  chambers  before. 
They  were  dismal,  close,  unwholesome,  and  op- 
pressive; the  furniture,  originally  good,  and  not 
yet  old,  was  faded  and  dirty, —  the  rooms  were  in 


HUNTED    DOWN  267 

great  disorder;  there  was  a  strong  prevailing  smell 
of  opium,  brandy,  and  tobacco;  the  grate  and 
fire-irons  were  splashed  all  over  with  unsightly 
blotches  of  rust;  and  on  a  sofa  by  the  fire,  in  the 
room  where  breakfast  had  been  prepared,  lay  the 
host,  Mr.  Beck  with,  a  man  with  all  the  appearances 
of  the  worst  kind  of  drunkard,  very  far  advanced 
upon  his  shameful  way  to  death. 

"Slinkton  is  not  come  yet,"  said  this  creature, 
staggering  up  when  I  went  in;  "I'll  call  him. — 
Halloa!  Julius  Caesar!  Come  and  drink!"  As 
he  hoarsely  roared  this  out,  he  beat  the  poker  and 
tongs  together  in  a  mad  way,  as  if  that  were  his 
usual  manner  of  summoning  his  associate. 

The  voice  of  Mr.  Slinkton  was  heard  through 
the  clatter  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  staircase, 
and  he  came  in.  He  had  not  expected  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  me.  I  have  seen  several  artful  men 
brought  to  a  stand,  but  I  never  saw  a  man  so 
aghast  as  he  was  when  his  eyes  rested  on  mine. 

"Julius  Ca3sar,"  cried  Beckwith,  staggering 
between  us,  "Mist'  Sampson!  Mist'  Sampson, 
Julius  Caesar!  Julius,  Mist'  Sampson,  is  the  friend 
of  my  soul.  Julius  keeps  me  plied  with  liquor, 
morning,  noon,  and  night.  Julius  is  a  real  bene- 
factor. Julius  threw  the  tea  and  coffee  out  of 
window  when  I  used  to  have  any.  Julius  empties 
all  the  water-jugs  of  their  contents,  and  fills  'em 


268  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

with  spirits.  Julius  winds  me  up  and  keeps  me 
going. —  Boil  the  brandy,  Julius!" 

There  was  a  rusty  and  furred  saucepan  in  the 
ashes, —  the  ashes  looked  like  the  accumulation  of 
weeks, —  and  Beck  with,  rolling  and  staggering 
between  us  as  if  he  were  going  to  plunge  headlong 
into  the  fire,  got  the  saucepan  out,  and  tried  to 
force  it  into  Slinkton's  hand. 

"Boil  the  brandy,  Julius  Caesar!  Come!  Do 
your  usual  office.  Boil  the  brandy!" 

He  became  so  fierce  in  his  gesticulations  with 
the  saucepan,  that  I  expected  to  see  him  lay  open 
Slinkton's  head  with  it.  I  therefore  put  out  my 
hand  to  check  him.  He  reeled  back  to  the  sofa, 
and  sat  there  panting,  shaking,  and  red-eyed,  in 
his  rags  of  dressing-gown,  looking  at  us  both.  I 
noticed  then  that  there  was  nothing  to  drink  on 
the  table  but  brandy,  and  nothing  to  eat  but  salted 
herrings,  and  a  hot,  sickly,  highly  peppered  stew. 

"At  all  events,  Mr.  Sampson,"  said  Slinkton, 
offering  me  the  smooth  gravel  path  for  the  last 
time,  "I  thank  you  for  interfering  between  me 
and  this  unfortunate  man's  violence.  However  you 
came  here,  Mr.  Sampson,  or  with  whatever  motive 
you  came  here,  at  least  I  thank  you  for  that." 

"Boil  the  brandy,"  muttered  Beckwith. 

Without  gratifying  his  desire  to  know  how  I 
came  there,  I  said  quietly,  "How  is  your  niece, 
Mr.  Slinkton?" 


HUNTED    DOWN  269 

He  looked  hard  at  me,  and  I  looked  hard  at  him. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say,  Mr.  Sampson,  that  my 
niece  has  proved  treacherous  and  ungrateful  to  her 
best  friend.  She  left  me  without  a  word  of  notice 
or  explanation.  She  was  misled,  no  doubt,  by 
some  designing  rascal.  Perhaps  you  may  have 
heard  of  it?" 

"I  did  hear  that  she  was  misled  by  a  designing 
rascal.  In  fact,  I  have  proof  of  it." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?"  said  he. 

"Quite." 

"Boil  the  brandy,"  muttered  Beckwith.  "Com- 
pany to  breakfast,  Julius  Caesar.  Do  your  usual 
office, —  provide  the  usual  breakfast,  dinner,  tea, 
and  supper.  Boil  the  brandy!" 

The  eyes  of  Slinkton  looked  from  him  to  me, 
and  he  said,  after  a  moment's  consideration, 

"Mr.  Sampson,  you  are  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  so  am  I.  I  will  be  plain  with  you." 

"O  no,  you  won't,"  said  I,  shaking  my  head. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,  I  will  be  plain  with  you." 

"And  I  tell  you  you  will  not,"  said  I.  "I  know 
all  about  you.  You  plain  with  any  one?  Nonsense, 
nonsense!" 

"I  plainly  tell  you,  Mr.  Sampson,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  manner  almost  composed,  "that  I 
understand  your  object.  You  want  to  save  your 
funds,  and  escape  from  your  liabilities;  these  are 


270 


BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 


old  tricks  of  trade  with  you  Office-gentlemen. 
But  you  will  not  do  it,  sir;  you  will  not  succeed. 
You  have  not  an  easy  adversary  to  play  against, 
when  you  play  against  me.  We  shall  have  to 
inquire,  in  due  time,  when  and  how  Mr.  Beckwith 
fell  into  his  present  habits.  With  that  remark, 
sir,  I  put  this  poor  creature,  and  his  incoherent 
wanderings  of  speech,  aside,  and  wish  you  a  good 
morning  and  a  better  case  next  time." 

While  he  was  saying  this,  Beckwith  had  rilled  a 
half-pint  glass  with  brandy.  At  this  moment,  he 
threw  the  brandy  at  his  face,  and  threw  the  glass 
after  it.  Slinkton  put  his  hands  up,  half  blinded 
with  the  spirit,  and  cut  with  the  glass  across  the 
forehead.  At  the  sound  of  the  breakage,  a  fourth 
person  came  into  the  room,  closed  the  door,  and 
stood  at  it;  he  was  a  very  quiet  but  very  keen- 
looking  man,  with  iron-gray  hair,  and  slightly 
lame. 

Slinkton  pulled  out  his  handkerchief,  assuaged 
the  pain  in  his  smarting  eyes,  and  dabbled  the 
blood  on  his  forehead.  He  was  a  long  time  about 
it,  and  I  saw  that  in  the  doing  of  it,  a  tremendous 
change  came  over  him,  occasioned  by  the  change 
in  Beckwith, —  who  ceased  to  pant  and  tremble, 
sat  upright,  and  never  took  his  eyes  off  him.  I 
never  in  my  life  saw  a  face  in  which  abhorrence 
and  determination  were  so  forcibly  painted  as  in 
Beckwith's  then. 


HUNTED    DOWN  271 

"Look  at  me,  you  villain,"  said  Beckwith, 
"and  see  me  as  I  really  am.  I  took  these  rooms, 
to  make  them  a  trap  for  you.  I  came  into  them 
as  a  drunkard,  to  bait  the  trap  for  you.  You  fell 
into  the  trap,  and  you  will  never  leave  it  alive. 
On  the  morning  when  you  last  went  to  Mr.  Samp- 
son's office,  I  had  seen  him  first.  Your  plot  has 
been  known  to  both  of  us,  all  along,  and  you  have 
been  counter-plotted  all  along.  What?  Having 
been  cajoled  into  putting  that  prize  of  two  thousand 
pounds  in  your  power,  I  was  to  be  done  to  death 
with  brandy,  and,  brandy  not  proving  quick 
enough,  with  something  quicker?  Have  I  never 
seen  you,  when  you  thought  my  senses  gone, 
pouring  from  your  little  bottle  into  my  glass? 
Why,  you  Murderer  and  Forger,  alone  here  with 
you  in  the  dead  of  night,  as  I  have  so  often  been, 
I  have  had  my  hand  upon  the  trigger  of  a  pistol, 
twenty  times,  to  blow  your  brains  out!" 

This  sudden  starting  up  of  the  thing  that  he  had 
supposed  to  be  his  imbecile  victim  into  a  deter- 
mined man,  with  a  settled  resolution  to  hunt  him 
down  and  be  the  death  of  him,  mercilessly  expressed 
from  head  to  foot,  was,  in  the  first  shock,  too  much 
for  him.  Without  any  figure  of  speech,  he  staggered 
under  it.  But  there  is  no  greater  mistake  than  to 
suppose  that  a  man  who  is  a  calculating  criminal, 
is,  in  any  phase  of  his  guilt,  otherwise  than  true  to 


272  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

himself,  and  perfectly  consistent  with  his  whole 
character.  Such  a  man  commits  murder,  and 
murder  is  the  natural  culmination  of  his  course; 
such  a  man  has  to  outface  murder,  and  will  do  it 
with  hardihood  and  effrontery.  It  is  a  sort  of 
fashion  to  express  surprise  that  any  notorious 
criminal,  having  such  crime  upon  his  conscience, 
can  so  brave  it  out.  Do  you  think  that  if  he  had  it 
on  his  conscience  at  all,  or  had  a  conscience  to  have 
it  upon,  he  would  ever  have  committed  the  crime? 

Perfectly  consistent  with  himself,  as  I  believe 
all  such  monsters  to  be,  this  Slinkton  recovered 
himself,  and  showed  a  defiance  that  was  sufficiently 
cold  and  quiet.  He  was  white,  he  was  haggard, 
he  was  changed;  but  only  as  a  sharper  who  had 
played  for  a  great  stake  and  had  been  outwitted 
and  had  lost  the  game. 

"Listen  to  me,  you  villain,"  said  Beckwith, 
"and  let  every  word  you  hear  me  say  be  a  stab  in 
your  wicked  heart.  When  I  took  these  rooms,  to 
throw  myself  in  your  way  and  lead  you  on  to  the 
scheme  that  I  knew  my  appearance  and  supposed 
character  and  habits  would  suggest  to  such  a  devil, 
how  did  I  know  that?  Because  you  were  no  stranger 
to  me.  I  knew  you  well.  And  I  knew  you  to  be  the 
cruel  wretch  who,  for  so  much  money,  had  killed 
one  innocent  girl  while  she  trusted  him  implicitly, 
and  who  was  by  inches  killing  another." 


HUNTED   DOWN  273 

Slinkton  took  out  a  snuff-box,  took  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  laughed. 

"But  see  here,"  said  Beckwith,  never  looking 
away,  never  raising  his  voice,  never  relaxing  his 
face,  never  unclenching  his  hand.  "See  what  a 
dull  wolf  you  have  been,  after  all!  The  infatu- 
ated drunkard  who  never  drank  a  fiftieth  part  of 
the  liquor  you  plied  him  with,  but  poured  it  away, 
here,  there,  and  everywhere  —  almost  before  your 
eyes;  who  bought  over  the  fellow  you  set  to 
watch  him  and  to  ply  him,  by  outbidding  you  in 
his  bribe,  before  he  had  been  at  his  work  three 
days  —  with  whom  you  have  observed  no  caution, 
yet  who  was  so  bent  on  ridding  the  earth  of  you 
as  a  wild  beast,  that  he  would  have  defeated  you 
if  you  had  been  ever  so  prudent  —  that  drunkard 
whom  you  have,  many  a  time,  left  on  the  floor  of 
this  room,  and  who  has  even  let  you  go  out  of  it, 
alive  and  undeceived,  when  you  have  turned  him 
over  with  your  foot  —  has,  almost  as  often,  on  the 
same  night,  within  an  hour,  within  a  few  minutes, 
watched  you  awake,  had  his  hand  at  your  pillow 
when  you  were  asleep,  turned  over  your  papers, 
taken  samples  from  your  bottles  and  packets  of 
powder,  changed  their  contents,  rifled  every  secret 
of  your  life!" 

He  had  had  another  pinch  of  snuff  in  his  hand, 
but  had  gradually  let  it  drop  from  between  his 


274  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

fingers  to  the  floor;  where  he  now  smoothed 
it  out  with  his  foot,  looking  down  at  it  the  while. 

"That  drunkard,"  said  Beckwith,  "who  had 
free  access  to  your  rooms  at  all  times,  that  he 
might  drink  the  strong  drinks  that  you  left  in  his 
way  and  be  the  sooner  ended,  holding  no  more 
terms  with  you  than  he  would  hold  with  a  tiger, 
has  had  his  master-key  for  all  your  locks,  his  test 
for  all  your  poisons,  his  clue  to  your  cipher-writ- 
ing. He  can  tell  you,  as  well  as  you  can  tell  him, 
how  long  it  took  to  complete  that  deed,  what 
doses  there  were,  what  intervals,  what  signs  of 
gradual  decay  upon  mind  and  body;  what  dis- 
tempered fancies  were  produced,  what  observable 
changes,  what  physical  pain.  He  can  tell  you,  as 
well  as  you  can  tell  him,  that  all  this  was  recorded 
day  by  day,  as  a  lesson  of  experience  for  future 
service.  He  can  tell  you,  better  than  you  can  tell 
him,  where  that  journal  is  at  this  moment." 

Slinkton  stopped  the  action  of  his  foot,  and 
looked  at  Beckwith. 

"No,"  said  the  latter,  as  if  answering  a  ques- 
tion from  him.  "Not  in  the  drawer  of  the  writing- 
desk  that  opens  with  a  spring;  it  is  not  there, 
and  it  never  will  be  there  again." 

"Then  you  are  a  thief!"    said  Slinkton. 

Without  any  change  whatever  in  the  inflexible 
purpose,  which  it  was  quite  terrific  even  to  me  to 


HUNTED    DOWN 


275 


contemplate,  and  from  the  power  of  which  I  had 
always  felt  convinced  it  was  impossible  for  this 
wretch  to  escape,  Beckwith  returned, 

"And  I  am  your  niece's  shadow,  too." 

With  an  imprecation  Slinkton  put  his  hand  to 
his  head,  tore  out  some  hair,  and  flung  it  to  the 
ground.  It  was  the  end  of  the  smooth  walk;  he 
destroyed  it  in  the  action,  and  it  will  soon  be  seen 
that  his  use  for  it  was  past. 

Beckwith  went  on:  "Whenever  you  left  here, 
I  left  here.  Although  I  understood  that  you  found 
it  necessary  to  pause  in  the  completion  of  that 
purpose,  to  avert  suspicion,  still  I  watched  you 
close,  with  the  poor  confiding  girl.  When  I  had 
the  diary,  and  could  read  it  word  by  word, —  it 
was  only  about  the  night  before  your  last  visit  to 
Scarborough, —  you  remember  the  night?  you 
slept  with  a  small  flat  vial  tied  to  your  wrist, —  I 
sent  to  Mr.  Sampson,  who  was  kept  out  of  view. 
This  is  Mr.  Sampson's  trusty  servant  standing  by 
the  door.  We  three  saved  your  niece  among  us." 

Slinkton  looked  at  us  all,  took  an  uncertain 
step  or  two  from  the  place  where  he  had  stood, 
returned  to  it,  and  glanced  about  him  in  a  very 
curious  way, —  as  one  of  the  meaner  reptiles 
might,  looking  for  a  hole  to  hide  :n.  I  noticed  at 
the  same  time,  that  a  singular  change  took  place 
in  the  figure  of  the  man, —  as  if  it  collapsed  within 


276  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

his  clothes,  and  they  consequently  became  ill- 
shapen  and  ill-fitting. 

"You  shall  know,"  said  Beckwith,  "for  I  hope 
the  knowledge  will  be  bitter  and  terrible  to  you, 
why  you  have  been  pursued  by  one  man,  and 
why,  when  the  whole  interest  that  Mr.  Sampson 
represents  would  have  expended  any  money  in 
hunting  you  down,  you  have  been  tracked  to 
death  at  a  single  individual's  charge.  I  hear  you 
have  had  the  name  of  Meltham  on  your  lips  some- 
times?" 

I  saw,  in  addition  to  those  other  changes,  a 
sudden  stoppage  come  upon  his  breathing. 

"When  you  sent  the  sweet  girl  whom  you  mur- 
dered (you  know  with  what  artfully  made-out 
surroundings  and  probabilities  you  sent  her)  to 
Meltham's  office,  before  taking  her  abroad  to 
originate  the  transaction  that  doomed  her  to  the 
grave,  it  fell  to  Meltham's  lot  to  see  her  and  to  speak 
with  her.  It  did  not  fall  to  his  lot  to  save  her, 
though  I  know  he  would  freely  give  his  own  life 
to  have  done  it.  He  admired  her;  —  I  would  say 
he  loved  her  deeply,  if  I  thought  it  possible  that 
you  could  understand  the  word.  When  she  was 
sacrificed,  he  was  thoroughly  assured  of  your  guilt. 
Having  lost  her,  he  had  but  one  object  left  in  life, 
and  that  was  to  avenge  her  and  destroy  you." 

I  saw  the  villain's  nostrils  rise  and  fall  convul- 
sively; but  I  saw  no  moving  at  his  mouth. 


HUNTED    DOWN 


277 


"That  man  Meltham,"  Beckwith  steadily  pur- 
sued, "was  as  absolutely  certain  that  you  could 
never  elude  him  in  this  world,  if  he  devoted  him- 
self to  your  destruction  with  his  utmost  fidelity 
and  earnestness,  and  if  he  divided  the  sacred  duty 
with  no  other  duty  in  life,  as  he  was  certain  that 
in  achieving  it  lie  would  be  a  poor  instrument  in 
the  hands  of  Providence,  and  would  do  well  before 
Heaven  in  striking  you  out  from  among  living 
men.  I  am  that  man,  and  I  thank  God  that  I 
have  done  my  work!" 

If  Slinkton  had  been  running  for  his  life  from 
swift-footed  savages,  a  dozen  miles,  he  could  not 
have  shown  more  emphatic  signs  of  being  op- 
pressed at  heart  and  laboring  for  breath,  than  he 
showed  now,  when  he  looked  at  the  pursuer  who 
had  so  relentlessly  hunted  him  down. 

"You  never  saw  me  under  my  right  name  be- 
fore; you  see  me  under  my  right  name  now.  You 
shall  see  me  once  again  in  the  body,  when  you  are 
tried  for  your  life.  You  shall  see  me  once  again 
in  the  spirit,  when  the  cord  is  round  your  neck, 
and  the  crowd  are  crying  against  you!" 

When  Meltham  had  spoken  these  last  words, 
the  miscreant  suddenly  turned  away  his  face,  and 
seemed  to  strike  his  mouth  with  his  open  hand. 
At  the  same  instant,  the  room  was  filled  with  a 
new  and  powerful  odor,  and,  almost  at  the  same 


278  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

instant,  he  broke  into  a  crooked  run,  leap,  start, 
-  I  have  no  name  for  the  spasm, —  and  fell,  with  a 
dull  weight  that  shook  the  heavy  old  doors  and 
windows  in  their  frames. 

That  was  the  fitting  end  of  him. 

When  we  saw  that  he  was  dead,  we  drew  away 
from  the  room,  and  Meltham,  giving  me  his  hand, 
said,  with  a  weary  air, 

"I  have  no  more  work  on  earth,  my  friend. 
But  I  shall  see  her  again  elsewhere." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  tried  to  rally  him.  He 
might  have  saved  her,  he  said;  he  had  not  saved 
her,  and  he  reproached  himself;  he  had  lost  her, 
and  he  was  broken-hearted. 

"The  purpose  that  sustained  me  is  over,  Sampson, 
and  there  is  nothing  now  to  hold  me  to  life.  I  am 
not  fit  for  life;  I  am  weak  and  spiritless;  I  have 
no  hope  and  no  object;  my  day  is  done." 

In  truth,  I  could  hardly  have  believed  that  the 
broken  man  who  then  spoke  to  me  was  the  man 
who  had  so  strongly  and  so  differently  impressed 
me  when  his  purpose  was  before  him.  I  used 
such  entreaties  with  him,  as  I  could;  but  he  still 
said,  and  always  said,  in  a  patient,  undemonstra- 
tive way, —  nothing  could  avail  him, —  he  was 
broken-hearted. 

He  died  early  in  the  next  spring.  He  was  buried 
by  the  side  of  the  poor  young  lady  for  whom  he  had 


HUNTED    DOWN 


279 


cherished  those  tender  and  unhappy  regrets;  and  he 
left  all  he  had  to  her  sister.  She  lived  to  be  a  happy 
wife  and  mother;  she  married  my  sister's  son,  who 
succeeded  poor  Meltham;  she  is  living  now,  and 
her  children  ride  about  the  garden  on  my  walking- 
stick  when  I  go  to  see  her. 


TO  BE  TAKEN  WITH  A  GRAIN 
OF  SALT 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS 


TO  BE  TAKEN  WITH  A  GRAIN 
OF  SALT 

I  HAVE  always  noticed  a  prevalent  want  of 
courage,  even  among  persons  of  superior  intelli- 
gence and  culture,  as  to  imparting  their  own 
psychological  experiences  when  those  have  been  of  a 
strange  sort.  Almost  all  men  are  afraid  that  what 
they  could  relate  in  such  wise  would  find  no  parallel 
or  response  in  a  listener's  internal  life,  and  might  be 
suspected  or  laughed  at.  A  truthful  traveller  who 
should  have  seen  some  extraordinary  creature  in 
the  likeness  of  a  sea-serpent,  would  have  no  fear  of 
mentioning  it;  but  the  same  traveller  having  had 
some  singular  presentiment,  impulse,  vagary  of 
thought,  vision  (so  called),  dream,  or  other  re- 
markable mental  impression,  would  hesitate  con- 
siderably before  he  would  own  to  it.  To  this 
reticence  I  attribute  much  of  the  obscurity  in 
which  such  subjects  are  involved.  We  do  not 
habitually  communicate  our  experiences  of  these 
subjective  things  as  we  do  our  experiences  of 
objective  creation.  The  consequence  is,  that  the 
general  stock  of  experience  in  this  regard  appears 
exceptional,  and  really  is  so,  in  respect  of  being 
miserably  imperfect. 

283 


284  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

In  what  I  am  going  to  relate  I  have  no  intention 
of  setting  up,  opposing,  or  supporting,  any  theory 
whatever.  I  know  the  history  of  the  Bookseller  of 
Berlin,  I  have  studied  the  case  of  the  wife  of  a  late 
Astronomer  Royal  as  related  by  Sir  David  Brewster, 
and  I  have  followed  the  minutest  details  of  a  much 
more  remarkable  case  of  Spectral  Illusion  occurring 
within  my  private  circle  of  friends.  It  may  be 
necessary  to  state  as  to  this  last  that  the  sufferer 
(a  lady)  was  in  no  degree,  however  distant,  related 
to  me.  A  mistaken  assumption  on  that  head 
might  suggest  an  explanation  of  a  part  of  my  own 
case  —  but  only  a  part  —  which  would  be  wholly 
without  foundation.  It  cannot  be  referred  to  my 
inheritance  of  any  developed  peculiarity,  nor  had  I 
ever  before  any  at  all  similar  experience,  nor  have 
I  ever  had  any  at  all  similar  experience  since. 

It  does  not  signify  how  many  years  ago,  or  how 
few,  a  certain  Murder  was  committed  in  England, 
which  attracted  great  attention.  We  hear  more 
than  enough  of  Murderers  as  they  rise  in  succession 
to  their  atrocious  eminence,  and  I  would  bury  the 
memory  of  this  particular  brute,  if  I  could,  as  his 
body  was  buried,  in  Newgate  Jail.  I  purposely 
abstain  from  giving  any  direct  clue  to  the  criminal's 
individuality. 

When  the  murder  was  first  discovered,  no 
suspicion  fell  —  or  I  ought  rather  to  say,  for  I  can- 


TO  BE  TAKEN   WITH   A  GRAIN  OF  SALT     285 

not  be  too  precise  in  my  facts,  it  was  nowhere 
publicly  hinted  that  any  suspicion  fell  —  on  the 
man  who  was  afterwards  brought  to  trial.  As  no  ref- 
erence was  at  that  time  made  to  him  in  the  news- 
papers, it  is  obviously  impossible  that  any  descrip- 
tion of  him  can  at  that  time  have  been  given  in  the 
newspapers.  It  is  essential  that  this  fact  be  remem- 
bered. 

Unfolding  at  breakfast  my  morning  paper, 
containing  the  account  of  that  first  discovery,  I 
found  it  to  be  deeply  interesting,  and  I  read  it  with 
close  attention.  I  read  it  twice,  if  not  three  times. 
The  discovery  had  been  made  in  a  bedroom,  and, 
when  I  laid  down  the  paper,  I  was  aware  of  a  flash 
—  rush  —  flow  —  I  do  not  know  what  to  call  it  — 
no  word  I  can  find  is  satisfactorily  descriptive  —  in 
which  I  seemed  to  see  that  bedroom  passing  through 
my  room,  like  a  picture  impossible  painted  on  a 
running  river.  Though  almost  instantaneous  in  its 
passing,  it  was  perfectly  clear;  so  clear  that  I  dis- 
tinctly, and  with  a  sense  of  relief,  observed  the 
absence  of  the  dead  body  from  the  bed. 

It  was  in  no  romantic  place  that  I  had  this 
curious  sensation,  but  in  chambers  in  Piccadilly, 
very  near  to  the  corner  of  St.  James's-street.  It 
was  entirely  new  to  me.  I  was  in  my  easy-chair  at 
the  moment,  and  the  sensation  was  accompanied 
with  a  peculiar  shiver  which  started  the  chair 


286  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

from  its  position.  (But  it  is  to  be  noted  that  the 
chair  ran  easily  on  castors.)  I  went  to  one  of  the 
windows  (there  are  two  in  the  room,  and  the  room 
is  on  the  second  floor)  to  refresh  my  eyes  with  the 
moving  objects  down  in  Piccadilly.  It  was  a 
bright  autumn  morning,  and  the  street  was  spark- 
ling and  cheerful.  The  wind  was  high.  As  I  looked 
out,  it  brought  down  from  the  Park  a  quantity  of 
fallen  leaves,  which  a  gust  took,  and  whirled  into  a 
spiral  pillar.  As  the  pillar  fell  and  the  leaves 
dispersed,  I  saw  two  men  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way,  going  from  West  to  East.  They  were  one 
behind  the  other.  The  foremost  man  often  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder.  The  second  man  followed 
him,  at  a  distance  of  some  thirty  paces,  with  his 
right  hand  menacingly  raised.  First,  the  singu- 
larity and  steadiness  of  this  threatening  gesture  in 
so  public  a  thoroughfare  attracted  my  attention; 
and  next,  the  more  remarkable  circumstance  that 
nobody  heeded  it.  Both  men  threaded  their  way 
among  the  other  passengers,  with  a  smoothness 
hardly  consistent  even  with  the  action  of  walking 
on  a  pavement,  and  no  single  creature,  that  I  could 
see,  gave  them  place,  touched  them,  or  looked 
after  them.  In  passing  before  my  windows,  they 
both  stared  up  at  me.  I  saw  their  two  faces  very 
distinctly,  and  I  knew  that  I  could  recognize  them 
anywhere.  Not  that  I  had  consciously  noticed 


TO   BE   TAKEN   WITH   A   GRAIN   OF   SALT     287 

anything  very  remarkable  in  either  face,  except 
that  the  man  who  went  first  had  an  unusually 
lowering  appearance,  and  that  the  face  of  the  man 
who  followed  him  was  of  the  color  of  impure  wax. 

I  am  a  bachelor,  and  my  valet  and  his  wife 
constitute  my  whole  establishment.  My  occupation 
is  in  a  certain  Branch  Bank,  and  I  wish  that  my 
duties  as  head  of  a  Department  were  as  light  as 
they  are  popularlyt supposed  to  be.  They  kept  me  in 
town  that  autumn,  when  I  stood  in  need  of  change. 
I  was  not  ill,  but  I  was  not  well.  My  reader  is  to 
make  the  most  that  can  be  reasonably  made  of  my 
feeling  jaded,  having  a  depressing  sense  upon  me 
of  a  monotonous  life,  and  being  "  slightly  dyspeptic." 
I  am  assured  by  my  renowned  doctor  that  my  real 
state  of  health  at  that  time  justifies  no  stronger 
description,  and  I  quote  his  own  from  his  written 
answer  to  my  request  for  it. 

As  the  circumstances  of  the  Murder,  gradually 
unravelling,  took  stronger  and  stronger  possession  of 
the  public  mind,  I  kept  them  away  from  mine,  by 
knowing  as  little  about  them  as  was  possible  in  the 
midst  of  the  universal  excitement.  But  I  knew 
that  a  verdict  of  Wilful  Murder  had  been  found 
against  the  suspected  Murderer,  and  that  he  had 
been  committed  to  Newgate  for  trial.  I  also  knew 
that  his  trial  had  been  postponed  over  one  Sessions 
of  the  Central  Criminal  Court,  on  the  ground  of 


288  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

general  prejudice  and  want  of  time  for  the  prep- 
aration of  the  defence.  I  may  further  have  known, 
but  I  believe  I  did  not,  when,  or  about  when,  the 
Sessions  to  which  his  trial  stood  postponed  would 
come  on. 

My  sitting-room,  bedroom,  and  dressing-room 
are  all  on  one  floor.  With  the  last  there  is  no 
communication  but  through  the  bedroom.  True, 
there  is  a  door  in  it,  once  communicating  with  the 
staircase;  but  a  part  of  the  fitting  of  my  bath  has 
been  —  and  had  then  been  for  some  years  — 
fixed  across  it.  At  the  same  period,  and  as  a  part  of 
the  same  arrangement,  the  door  had  been  nailed 
up  and  canvased  over. 

I  was  standing  in  my  bedroom  late  one  night, 
giving  some  directions  to  my  servant  before  he 
went  to  bed.  My  face  was  towards  the  only  avail- 
able door  of  communication  with  the  dressing-room, 
and  it  was  closed.  My  servant's  back  was  towards 
that  door.  While  I  was  speaking  to  him  I  saw  it 
open,  and  a  man  look  in,  who  very  earnestly  and 
mysteriously  beckoned  to  me.  That  man  was  the 
man  who  had  gone  second  of  the  two  along  Picca- 
dilly, and  whose  face  was  the  color  of  impure  wax. 

The  figure,  having  beckoned,  drew  back  and 
closed  the  door.  With  no  longer  pause  than  was 
made  by  my  crossing  the  bedroom,  I  opened  the 
dressing-room  door,  and  looked  in.  I  had  a  lighted 


TO  BE  TAKEN   WITH   A  GRAIN  OF  SALT     289 

candle  already  in  my  hand.  I  felt  no  inward 
expectation  of  seeing  the  figure  in  the  dressing- 
room,  and  I  did  not  see  it  there. 

Conscious  that  my  servant  stood  amazed,  I 
turned  round  to  him,  and  said:  "Derrick,  could 
you  believe  that  in  my  cool  senses  I  fancied  I  saw 
a  — "  As  I  there  laid  my  hand  upon  his  breast,  with 
a  sudden  start  he  trembled  violently,  and  said, 
"O  Lord,  yes,  sir!  A  dead  man  beckoning!" 

Now,  I  do  not  believe  that  this  John  Derrick,  my 
trusty  and  attached  servant  for  more  than  twenty 
years,  had  any  impression  whatever  of  having  seen 
any  such  figure,  until  I  touched  him.  The  change 
in  him  was  so  startling,  when  I  touched  him,  that  I 
fully  believed  he  derived  his  impression  in  some 
occult  manner  from  me  at  that  instant. 

I  bade  John  Derrick  bring  some  brandy,  and  I 
gave  him  a  dram,  and  was  glad  to  take  one  myself. 
Of  what  had  preceded  that  night's  phenomenon,  I 
told  him  not  a  single  word.  Reflecting  on  it,  I  was 
absolutely  certain  that  I  had  never  seen  that  face 
before,  except  on  the  one  occasion  in  Piccadilly. 
Comparingits  expression  when  beckoning  at  the  door, 
with  its  expression  when  it  had  stared  up  at  me  as  I 
stood  at  my  window,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
on  the  first  occasion  it  had  sought  to  fasten  itself 
upon  my  memory,  and  that  on  the  second  occasion 
it  had  made  sure  of  being  immediately  remembered. 


BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 


I  was  not  very  comfortable  that  night,  though  I 
felt  a  certainty,  difficult  to  explain,  that  the  figure 
would  not  return.  At  daylight,  I  fell  into  a  heavy 
sleep,  from  which  I  was  awakened  by  John  Derrick's 
coming  to  my  bedside  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

This  paper,  it  appeared,  had  been  the  subject  of 
an  altercation  at  the  door  between  its  bearer  and  my 
servant.  It  was  a  summons  to  me  to  serve  upon  a 
Jury  at  the  forthcoming  Sessions  of  the  Central 
Criminal  Court  at  the  Old  Bailey.  I  had  never 
before  been  summoned  on  such  a  Jury,  as  John 
Derrick  well  knew.  He  believed  —  I  am  not  certain 
at  this  hour  whether  with  reason  or  otherwise  — • 
that  that  class  of  Jurors  were  customarily  chosen 
on  a  lower  qualification  than  mine,  and  he  had  at 
first  refused  to  accept  the  summons.  The  man  who 
served  it  had  taken  the  matter  very  coolly.  He  had 
said  that  my  attendance  or  non-attendance  was 
nothing  to  him;  there  the  summons  was;  and  I 
should  deal  with  it  at  my  own  peril,  and  not  at  his. 

For  a  day  or  two  I  was  undecided  whether  to 
respond  to  this  call,  or  take  no  notice  of  it.  I  was  not 
conscious  of  the  slightest  mysterious  bias,  influence, 
or  attraction,  one  way  or  other.  Of  that  I  am  as 
strictly  sure  as  of  every  other  statement  that  I  make 
here.  Ultimately  I  decided  as  a  break  in  the 
monotony  of  my  life  that  I  would  go. 

The  appointed  morning  was  a  raw  morning  in  the 


TO  BE  TAKEN  WITH  A  GRAIN  OF  SALT 


291 


month  of  November.  There  was  a  dense  brown  fog 
in  Piccadilly,  and  it  became  positively  black  and  in 
the  last  degree  oppressive  East  of  Temple  Bar.  I 
found  the  passages  and  staircases  of  the  Court 
House  flaringly  lighted  with  gas,  and  the  Court 
itself  similarly  illuminated.  I  think  that  until  I 
was  conducted  by  officers  into  the  Old  Court  and 
saw  its  crowded  state,  I  did  not  know  that  the 
Murderer  was  to  be  tried  that  day.  I  think  that 
until  I  was  so  helped  into  the  Old  Court  with 
considerable  difficulty,  I  did  not  know  into  which 
of  the  two  Courts  sitting,  my  summons  would  take 
me.  But  this  must  not  be  received  as  a  positive 
assertion,  for  I  am  not  completely  satisfied  in  my 
mind  on  either  point. 

I  took  my  seat  in  the  place  appropriated  to 
Jurors  in  waiting,  and  I  looked  about  the  Court  as 
well  as  I  could  through  the  cloud  of  fog  and  breath 
that  was  heavy  in  it.  I  noticed  the  black  vapor 
hanging  like  a  murky  curtain  outside  the  great 
windows,  and  I  noticed  the  stifled  sound  of  wheels 
on  the  straw  or  tan  that  was  littered  in  the  street; 
also,  the  hum  of  the  people  gathered  there,  which  a 
shrill  whistle,  or  a  louder  song  or  hail  than  the  rest, 
occasionally  pierced.  Soon  afterwards  the  Judges, 
two  in  number,  entered  and  took  their  seats.  The 
buzz  in  the  Court  was  awfully  hushed.  The 
direction  was  given  to  put  the  Murderer  to  the  bar. 


2Q2  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

He  appeared  there.  And  in  that  same  instant  I 
recognized  in  him,  the  first  of  the  two  men  who  had 
gone  down  Piccadilly. 

If  my  name  had  been  called  then,  I  doubt  if  I 
could  have  answered  to  it  audibly.  But  it  was 
called  about  sixth  or  eighth  in  the  panel,  and  I  was 
by  that  time  able  to  say  "Here!"  Now,  observe. 
As  I  stepped  into  the  box,  the  prisoner,  who  had 
been  looking  on  attentively  but  with  no  sign  of 
concern,  became  violently  agitated,  and  beckoned 
to  his  attorney.  The  prisoner's  wish  to  challenge 
me  was  so  manifest,  that  it  occasioned  a  pause, 
during  which  the  attorney,  with  his  hand  upon  the 
dock,  whispered  with  his  client,  and  shook  his  head. 
I  afterwards  had  it  from  that  gentleman,  that  the 
prisoner's  first  affrighted  words  to  him  were, 
" At  all  hazards  challenge  that  man/"  But,  that  as 
he  would  give  no  reason  for  it,  and  admitted  that 
he  had  not  even  known  my  name  until  he  heard  it 
called  and  I  appeared,  it  was  not  done. 

Both  on  the  ground  already  explained,  that  I 
wish  to  avoid  reviving  the  unwholesome  memory  of 
that  Murderer,  and  also  because  a  detailed  account 
of  his  long  trial  is  by  no  means  indispensable  to  my 
narrative,  I  shall  confine  myself  closely  to  such 
incidents  in  the  ten  days  and  nights  during  which 
we,  the  Jury,  were  kept  together,  as  directly  bear 
on  my  own  curious  personal  experiences  It  is  in 


TO  BE  TAKEN   WITH   A  GRAIN   OF  SALT     293 

that,  and  not  in  the  Murderer,  that  I  seek  to 
interest  my  reader.  It  is  to  that,  and  not  to  a  page 
of  the  Newgate  Calendar,  that  I  beg  attention. 

I  was  chosen  Foreman  of  the  Jury.  On  the 
second  morning  of  the  trial,  after  evidence  had  been 
taken  for  two  hours  (I  heard  the  church  clocks 
strike),  happening  to  cast  my  eyes  over  my  brother- 
jurymen,  I  found  an  inexplicable  difficulty  in 
counting  them.  I  counted  them  several  times, 
yet  always  with  the  same  difficulty.  In  short,  I 
made  them  one  too  many. 

I  touched  the  brother-juryman  whose  place  was 
next  me,  and  I  whispered  to  him,  "Oblige  me  by 
counting  us."  He  looked  surprised  by  the  request, 
but  turned  his  head  and  counted.  "Why,"  says  he, 
suddenly,  "we  are  Thirt — ;  but  no,  it's  not 
possible.  No.  We  are  twelve." 

According  to  my  counting  that  day,  we  were 
always  right  in  detail,  but  in  the  gross  we  were 
always  one  too  many.  There  was  no  appearance 
—  no  figure  —  to  account  for  it;  but  I  had  now  an 
inward  foreshadowing  of  the  figure  that  was  surely 
coming. 

The  Jury  were  housed  at  the  London  Tavern. 
We  all  slept  in  one  large  room  on  separate  tables, 
and  we  were  constantly  in  the  charge  and  under  the 
eye  of  the  officer  sworn  to  hold  us  in  safe-keeping. 
I  see  no  reason  for  suppressing  the  real  name  of  that 


294  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

officer.  He  was  intelligent,  highly  polite,  and 
obliging,  and  (I  was  glad  to  hear)  much  respected 
in  the  City.  He  had  an  agreeable  presence,  good 
eyes,  enviable  black  whiskers,  and  a  fine  sonorous 
voice.  His  name  was  Mr.  Harker. 

When  we  turned  into  our  twelve  beds  at  night, 
Mr.  Harker's  bed  was  drawn  across  the  door.  On 
the  night  of  the  second  day,  not  being  disposed  to 
lie  down,  and  seeing  Mr.  Harker  sitting  on  his  bed,  I 
went  and  sat  beside  him,  and  offered  him  a  pinch 
of  snuff.  As  Mr.  Harker's  hand  touched  mine  in 
taking  it  from  my  box,  a  peculiar  shiver  crossed 
him,  and  he  said,  "Who  is  this!" 

Following  Mr.  Harker's  eyes,  and  looking  along 
the  room,  I  saw  again  the  figure  I  expected  —  the 
second  of  the  two  men  who  had  gone  down  Picca- 
dilly. I  rose,  and  advanced  a  few  steps;  then 
stopped,  and  looked  round  at  Mr.  Harker.  He  was 
quite  unconcerned,  laughed,  and  said  in  a  pleasant 
way,  "I  thought  for  a  moment  we  had  a  thirteenth 
juryman,  without  a  bed.  But  I  see  it  is  the  moon- 
light." 

Making  no  revelation  to  Mr.  Harker,  but  inviting 
him  to  take  a  walk  with  me  to  the  end  of  the  room, 
I  watched  what  the  figure  did.  It  stood  for  a  few 
moments  by  the  bedside  of  each  of  my  eleven 
brother  jurymen,  close  to  the  pillow.  It  always 
went  to  the  right-hand  side  of  the  bed,  and  always 


TO   BE   TAKEN   WITH   A   GRAIN   OF   SALT     295 

passed  out  crossing  the  foot  of  the  next  bed.  It 
seemed  from  the  action  of  the  head,  merely  to  look 
down  pensively  at  each  recumbent  figure.  It  took 
no  notice  of  me,  or  of  my  bed,  which  was  that  near- 
est to  Mr.  Barker's.  It  seemed  to  go  out  where 
the  moonlight  came  in,  through  a  high  window,  as 
by  an  aerial  flight  of  stairs. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast,  it  appeared  that 
everybody  present  had  dreamed  of  the  murdered 
man  last  night,  except  myself  and  Mr.  Harker. 

I  now  felt  as  convinced  that  the  second  man  who 
had  gone  down  Piccadilly  was  the  murdered  man 
(so  to  speak),  as  if  it  had  been  borne  into  my 
comprehension  by  his  immediate  testimony.  But 
even  this  took  place,  and  in  a  manner  for  which 
I  was  not  at  all  prepared. 

On  the  fifth  day  of  the  trial,  when  the  case  for  the 
prosecution  was  drawing  to  a  close,  a  miniature  of 
the  murdered  man,  missing  from  his  bedroom  upon 
the  discovery  of  the  deed,  and  afterwards  found  in  a 
hiding-place  where  the  Murderer  had  been  seen 
digging,  was  put  in  evidence.  Having  been  iden- 
tified by  the  witness  under  examination,  it  was 
handed  up  to  the  Bench,  and  thence  handed  down 
to  be  inspected  by  the  Jury.  As  an  officer  in  a 
black  gown  was  making  his  way  with  it  across  to 
me,  the  figure  of  the  second  man  who  had  gone 
down  Piccadilly  impetuously  started  from  the 


296  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

crowd,  caught  the  miniature .  from  the  officer,  and 
gave  it  to  me  with  its  own  hands,  at  the  same  time 
saying  in  a  low  and  hollow  tone  —  before  I  saw  the 
miniature,  which  was  in  a  locket — "/  was  younger 
then,  and  my  face  was  not  then  drained  of  blood." 
It  also  came  between  me  and  the  brother-juryman 
to  whom  I  would  have  given  the  miniature,  and 
between  him  and  the  brother-juryman  to  whom 
he  would  have  given  it,  and  so  passed  it  on  through 
the  whole  of  our  number,  and  back  into  my  pos- 
session. Not  one  of  them,  however,  detected  this. 
At  table,  and  generally  when  we  were  shut  up  to- 
gether in  Mr.  Harker's  custody,  we  had  from  the 
first  naturally  discussed  the  day's  proceedings  a 
good  deal.  On  that  fifth  day,  the  case  for  the 
prosecution  being  closed,  and  we  having  that  side 
of  the  question  in  a  completed  shape  before  us, 
our  discussion  was  more  animated  and  serious. 
Among  our  number  was  a  vestryman  —  the  densest 
idiot  I  have  ever  seen  at  large  —  who  met  the 
plainest  evidence  with  the  most  preposterous 
objections,  and  who  was  sided  with  by  two  flabby 
parochial  parasites;  all  the  three  empanelled  from  a 
district  so  delivered  over  to  Fever  that  they  ought 
to  have  been  upon  their  own  trial,  for  five  hundred 
Murders.  When  these  mischievous  blockheads 
were  at  their  loudest,  which  was  towards  midnight 
while  some  of  us  were  already  preparing  for  bed,  I 


TO   BE   TAKEN    WITH   A   GRAIN   OF   SALT     297 

again  saw  the  murdered  man.  He  stood  grimly 
behind  them,  beckoning  to  me.  On  my  going 
towards  them  and  striking  into  the  conversation, 
he  immediately  retired.  This  was  the  beginning  of  a 
separate  series  of  appearances,  confined  to  that  long 
room  in  which  we  were  confined.  Whenever  a  knot 
of  my  brother-jurymen  laid  their  heads  together, 
I  saw  the  head  of  the  murdered  man  among  theirs. 
Whenever  their  comparison  of  notes  was  going 
against  him,  he  would  solemnly  and  irresistibly 
beckon  to  me. 

It  will  be  borne  in  mind  that  down  to  the  pro- 
duction of  the  miniature  on  the  fifth  day  of  the  trial, 
I  had  never  seen  the  Appearance  in  Court.  Three 
changes  occurred,  now  that  we  entered  on  the  case 
for  the  defence.  Two  of  them  I  will  mention 
together,  first.  The  figure  was  now  in  Court 
continually,  and  it  never  there  addressed  itself  to  me, 
but  always  to  the  person  who  was  speaking  at  the 
time.  For  instance.  The  throat  of  the  murdered 
man  had  been  cut  straight  across.  In  the  opening 
speech  for  the  defence,  it  was  suggested  that  the 
deceased  might  have  cut  his  own  throat.  At  that 
very  moment,  the  figure  with  its  throat  in  the 
dreadful  condition  referred  to  (this  it  had  concealed 
before)  stood  at  the  speaker's  elbow,  motioning 
across  and  across  its  windpipe,  now  with  the  right 
hand,  now  with  the  left,  vigorously  suggesting  to 


298  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

the  speaker  himself,  the  impossibility  of  such  a 
wound  having  been  self-inflicted  by  either  hand. 
For  another  instance.  A  witness  to  character,  a 
woman,  deposed  to  the  prisoner's  being  the  most 
amiable  of  mankind.  The  figure  at  that  instant 
stood  on  the  floor  before  her,  looking  her  full  in  the 
face,  and  pointing  out  the  prisoner's  evil  counte- 
nance with  an  extended  arm  and  an  outstretched 
finger. 

The  third  change  now  to  be  added,  impressed  me 
strongly,  as  the  most  marked  and  striking  of  all. 
I  do  not  theorize  upon  it;  I  accurately  state  it, 
and  there  leave  it.  Although  the  Appearance  was 
not  itself  perceived  by  those  whom  it  addressed, 
its  coming  close  to  such  persons  was  invariably 
attended  by  some  trepidation  or  disturbance  on 
their  part.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  it  were  prevented 
by  laws  to  which  I  was  not  amenable,  from  fully 
revealing  itself  to  others,  and  yet  as  if  it  could, 
invisibly,  dumbly,  and  darkly,  overshadow  their 
minds.  When  the  leading  counsel  for  the  defence 
suggested  that  hypothesis  of  suicide  and  the  figure 
stood  at  the  learned  gentleman's  elbow,  frightfully 
sawing  at  its  severed  throat,  it  is  undeniable  that 
the  counsel  faltered  in  his  speech,  lost  for  a  few 
seconds  the  thread  of  his  ingenious  discourse, 
wiped  his  forehead  with  his  handkerchief,  and 
turned  extremely  pale.  When  the  witness  to 


TO  BE  TAKEN  WITH   A  GRAIN  OF  SALT;     299 

character  was  confronted  by  the  Appearance,  her 
eyes  most  certainly  did  follow  the  direction  of  its 
pointed  finger,  and  rest  in  great  hesitation  and 
trouble  upon  the  prisoner's  face.  Two  additional 
illustrations  will  suffice.  On  the  eighth  day  of  the 
trial,  after  the  pause  which  was  every  day  made 
early  in  the  afternoon  for  a  few  minutes'  rest  and 
refreshment,  I  came  back  into  court  with  the  rest  of 
the  Jury,  some  little  time  before  the  return  of  the 
Judges.  Standing  up  in  the  box  and  looking  about 
me,  I  thought  the  figure  was  not  there,  until, 
chancing  to  raise  my  eyes  to  the  gallery,  I  saw  it 
bending  forward  and  leaning  over  a  very  decent 
woman,  as  if  to  assure  itself  whether  the  Judges  had 
resumed  their  seats  or  not.  Immediately  afterwards 
that  woman  screamed,  fainted,  and  was  carried  out. 
So  with  the  venerable,  sagacious,  and  patient  Judge 
who  conducted  the  trial.  When  the  case  was  over, 
and  he  settled  himself  and  his  papers  to  sum  up, 
the  murdered  man  entering  by  the  Judges'  door, 
advanced  to  his  Lordship's  desk,  and  looked  eagerly 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  pages  of  his  notes  which  he 
was  turning.  A  change  came  over  his  Lordship's 
face;  his  hand  stopped;  the  peculiar  shiver  that  I 
knew  so  well,  passed  over  him;  he  faltered,  "Excuse 
me,  gentlemen,  for  a  few  moments.  I  am  some- 
what oppressed  by  the  vitiated  air;"  and  did  not 
recover  until  he  had  drunk  a  glass  of  water. 


300  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

Through  all  the  monotony  of  six  of  these  in- 
terminable ten  days  —  the  same  Judges  and  others 
on  the  bench,  the  same  Murderer  in  the  dock,  the 
same  lawyers  at  the  table,  the  same  tones  of  question 
and  answer  rising  to  the  roof  of  the  Court,  the  same 
scratching  of  the  Judge's  pen,  the  same  ushers 
going  in  and  out,  the  same  lights  kindled  at  the 
same  hour  when  there  had  been  any  natural  light 
of  day,  the  same  foggy  curtain  outside  the  great 
windows  when  it  was  foggy,  the  same  rain  pattering 
and  dripping  when  it  was  rainy,  the  same  footmarks 
of  turnkeys  and  prisoner  day  after  day  on  the  same 
sawdust,  the  same  keys  locking  and  unlocking  the 
same  heavy  doors  —  through  all  the  wearisome 
monotony  which  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  been 
Foreman  of  the  Jury  for  a  vast  period  of  time,  and 
Piccadilly  had  flourished  coevally  with  Babylon, 
the  murdered  man  never  lost  one  trace  of  his 
distinctness  in  my  eyes,  nor  was  he  at  any  moment 
less  distinct  than  anybody  else.  I  must  not  omit, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  that  I  never  once  saw  the  Ap- 
pearance which  I  call  by  the  name  of  the  murdered 
man,  look  at  the  Murderer.  Again  and  again  I 
wondered,  "Why  does  he  not?"  But  he  never  did. 

Nor  did  he  look  at  me,  after  the  production  of  the 
miniature,  until  the  last  closing  minutes  of  the  trial 
arrived.  We  retired  to  consider,  at  seven  minutes 
before  ten  at  night.  The  idiotic  vestryman  and 


TO   BE  TAKEN   WITH   A  GRAIN  OF  SALT     301 

his  two  parochial  parasites  gave  us  so  much  trouble 
that  we  twice  returned  into  Court,  to  beg  to  have 
certain  extracts  from  the  Judge's  notes  re-read. 
Nine  of  us  had  not  the  smallest  doubt  about  those 
passages,  neither,  I  believe,  had  any  one  in  Court; 
the  dunderheaded  triumvirate,  however,  having  no 
idea  but  obstruction,  disputed  them  for  that  very 
reason.  At  length  we  prevailed,  and  finally  the 
Jury  returned  into  Court  at  ten  minutes  past  twelve. 

The  murdered  man  at  that  time  stood  directly 
opposite  the  Jury-box,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Court.  As  I  took  my  place,  his  eyes  rested  on  me, 
with  great  attention;  he  seemed  satisfied,  and 
slowly  shook  a  great  gray  veil,  which  he  carried  on 
his  arm  for  the  first  time,  over  his  head  and  whole 
form.  As  I  gave  in  our  verdict,  "Guilty,"  the  veil 
collapsed,  all  was  gone,  and  his  place  was  empty. 

The  Murderer  being  asked  by  the  Judge,  accord- 
ing to  usage,  whether  he  had  anything  to  say  before 
sentence  of  Death  should  be  passed  upon  him, 
indistinctly  muttered  something  which  was  de- 
scribed in  the  leading  newspapers  of  the  follow- 
ing day  as  "a  few  rambling,  incoherent,  and  half- 
audible  words,  in  which  he  was  understood  to 
complain  that  he  had  not  had  a  fair  trial,  because 
the  Foreman  of  the  Jury  was  prepossessed  against 
him."  The  remarkable  declaration  that  he  really 
made  was  this:  "My  Lord,  I  knew  I  was  a  doomed 


302 


BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 


man  -when  the  Foreman  of  my  Jury  came  into  the  box. 
My  Lord,  I  knew  he  would  never  let  me  off,  because, 
before  I  was  taken,  he  somehow  got  to  my  bedside  in 
the  night,  woke  me,  and  put  a  rope  round  my  neck" 


THE  SIRE  DE  MALETROIT'S  DOOR 
BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


THE  SIRE  DE  MALETROIT'S  DOOR 

DENIS  DE  BEAULIEU  was  not  yet  two-and-twenty, 
but  he  counted  himself  a  grown  man,  and  a  very  ac- 
complished cavalier  into  the  bargain.  Lads  were 
early  formed  in  that  rough,  warfaring  epoch;  and 
when  one  has  been  in  a  pitched  battle  and  a  dozen 
raids,  has  killed  one's  man  in  an  honorable  fashion, 
and  knows  a  thing  or  two  of  strategy  and  mankind, 
a  certain  swagger  in  the  gait  is  surely  to  be  pardoned. 
He  had  put  up  his  horse  with  due  care,  and  supped 
with  due  deliberation;  and  then,  in  a  very  agreeable 
frame  of  mind,  went  out  to  pay  a  visit  in  the  gray 
of  the  evening.  It  was  not  a  very  wise  proceeding 
on  the  young  man's  part.  He  would  have  done 
better  to  remain  beside  the  fire  or  go  decently  to 
bed.  For  the  town  was  full  of  the  troops  of  Bur- 
gundy and  England  under  a  mixed  command;  and 
though  Denis  was  there  on  safe-conduct,  his  safe- 
conduct  was  like  to  serve  him  little  on  a  chance 
encounter. 

It  was  September  1429;  the  weather  had  fallen 
sharp;  a  flighty  piping  wind,  laden  with  showers, 
beat  about  the  township;  and  the  dead  leaves  ran 
riot  along  the  streets.  Here  and  there  a  window  was 
already  lighted  up;  and  the  noise  of  men-at-arms 
305 


306  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

making  merry  over  supper  within,  came  forth  in 
fits  and  was  swallowed  up  and  carried  away  by  the 
wind.  The  night  fell  swiftly;  the  flag  of  England, 
fluttering  on  the  spire-top,  grew  ever  fainter  and 
fainter  against  the  flying  clouds  —  a  black  speck 
like  a  swallow  in  the  tumultuous,  leaden  chaos  of  the 
sky.  As  the  night  fell  the  wind  rose,  and  began  to 
hoot  under  archways  and  roar  amid  the  tree-tops  in 
the  valley  below  the  town. 

Denis  de  Beaulieu  walked  fast  and  was  soon 
knocking  at  his  friend's  door;  but  though  he  prom- 
ised himself  to  stay  only  a  little  while  and  make  an 
early  return,  his  welcome  was  so  pleasant,  and  he 
found  so  much  to  delay  him,  that  it  was  already  long 
past  midnight  before  he  said  good-by  upon  the 
threshold.  The  wind  had  fallen  again  in  the  mean- 
while; the  night  was  as  black  as  the  grave;  not  a 
star,  nor  a  glimmer  of  moonshine,  slipped  through 
the  canopy  of  cloud.  Denis  was  ill-acquainted  with 
the  intricate  lanes  of  Chateau  Landon ;  even  by  day- 
light he  had  found  some  trouble  in  picking  his  way; 
and  in  this  absolute  darkness  he  soon  lost  it  alto- 
gether. He  was  certain  of  one  thing  only  —  to  keep 
mounting  the  hill;  for  his  friend's  house  lay  at  the 
lower  end,  or  tail,  of  Chateau  Landon,  while  the  inn 
was  up  at  the  head,  under  the  great  church  spire. 
With  this  clue  to  go  upon  he  stumbled  and  groped 
forward,  now  breathing  more  freely  in  open  places 


THE    SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S    DOOR      307 

where  there  was  a  good  slice  of  sky  overhead,  now 
feeling  along  the  wall  in  stifling  closes.  It  is  an  eerie 
and  mysterious  position  to  be  thus  submerged  in 
opaque  blackness  in  an  almost  unknown  town.  The 
silence  is  terrifying  in  its  possibilities.  The  touch 
of  cold  window  bars  to  the  exploring  hand  startles 
the  man  like  the  touch  of  a  toad ;  the  inequalities  of 
the  pavement  shake  his  heart  into  his  mouth;  a 
piece  of  denser  darkness  threatens  an  ambuscade 
or  a  chasm  in  the  pathway;  and  where  the  air  is 
brighter,  the  houses  put  on  strange  and  bewildering 
appearances,  as  if  to  lead  him  farther  from  his  way. 
For  Denis,  who  had  to  regain  his  inn  without 
attracting  notice,  there  was  real  danger  as  well  as 
mere  discomfort  in  the  walk;  and  he  went  warily 
and  boldly  at  once,  and  at  every  corner  paused  to 
make  an  observation. 

He  had  been  for  some  time  threading  a  lane  so 
narrow  that  he  could  touch  a  wall  with  either  hand, 
when  it  began  to  open  out  and  go  sharply  downward. 
Plainly  this  lay  no  longer  in  the  direction  of  his  inn; 
but  the  hope  of  a  little  more  light  tempted  him 
forward  to  reconnoitre.  The  lane  ended  in  a  terrace 
with  a  bartizan  wall,  which  gave  an  outlook  between 
high  houses,  as  out  of  an  embrasure,  into  the  valley 
lying  dark  and  formless  several  hundred  feet  below. 
Denis  looked  down,  and  could  discern  a  few  tree- 
tops  waving  and  a  single  speck  of  brightness  where 


308  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

the  river  ran  across  a  weir.  The  weather  was  clear- 
ing up,  and  the  sky  had  lightened,  so  as  to  show  the 
outline  of  the  heavier  clouds  and  the  dark  margin  of 
the  hills.  By  the  uncertain  glimmer,  the  house  on 
his  left  hand  should  be  a  place  of  some  pretensions; 
it  was  surmounted  by  several  pinnacles  and  turret- 
tops;  the  round  stern  of  a  chapel,  with  a  fringe  of 
flying  buttresses,  projected  boldly  from  the  main 
block;  and  the  door  was  sheltered  under  a  deep 
porch  carved  with  figures  and  overhung  by  two  long 
gargoyles.  The  windows  of  the  chapel  gleamed 
through  their  intricate  tracery  with  a  light  as  of 
many  tapers,  and  threw  out  the  buttresses  and  the 
peaked  roof  in  a  more  intense  blackness  against  the 
sky.  It  was  plainly  the  hotel  of  some  great  family 
of  the  neighborhood;  and  as  it  reminded  Denis  of  a 
town  house  of  his  own  at  Bourges,  he  stood  for  some 
time  gazing  up  at  it  and  mentally  gauging  the  skill 
of  the  architects  and  the  consideration  of  the  two 
families. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  issue  to  the  terrace  but  the 
lane  by  which  he  had  reached  it;  he  could  only 
retrace  his  steps,  but  he  had  gained  some  notion  of 
his  whereabouts,  and  hoped  by  this  means  to  hit  the 
main  thoroughfare  and  speedily  regain  the  inn.  He 
was  reckoning  without  that  chapter  of  accidents 
which  was  to  make  this  night  memorable  above  all 
others  in  his  career;  for  he  had  not  gone  back  above 


THE    SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S    DOOR      309 

a  hundred  yards  before  he  saw  a  light  coming  to 
meet  him,  and  heard  loud  voices  speaking  together 
in  the  echoing  narrows  of  the  lane.  It  was  a  party 
of  men-at-arms  going  the  night  round  with  torches. 
Denis  assured  himself  that  they  had  all  been  making 
free  with  the  wine-bowl,  and  were  in  no  mood  to  be 
particular  about  safe-conducts  or  the  niceties  of 
chivalrous  war.  It  was  as  like  as  not  that  they 
would  kill  him  like  a  dog  and  leave  him  where  he  fell. 
The  situation  was  inspiring  but  nervous.  Their 
own  torches  would  conceal  him  from  sight,  he 
reflected;  and  he  hoped  that  they  would  drown  the 
noise  of  his  footsteps  with  their  own  empty  voices. 
If  he  were  but  silent,  fleet  and  he  might  evade  their 
notice  altogether. 

Unfortunately,  as  he  turned  to  beat  a  retreat,  his 
foot  rolled  upon  a  pebble;  he  fell  against  the  wall 
with  an  ejaculation,  and  his  sword  rang  loudly  on 
the  stones.  Two  or  three  voices  demanded  who 
went  there  —  some  in  French,  some  in  English;  but 
Denis  made  no  reply,  and  ran  the  faster  down  the 
lane.  Once  upon  the  terrace,  he  paused  to  look  back. 
They  still  kept  calling  after  him,  and  just  then  began 
to  double  the  pace  in  pursuit,  with  a  considerable 
clank  of  armor,  and  great  tossing  of  the  torchlight 
to  and  fro  in  the  narrow  jaws  of  the  passage. 

Denis  cast  a  look  around  and  darted  into  the 
porch.  There  he  might  escape  observation,  or  —  if 


3io 


BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 


that  were  too  much  to  expect  —  was  in  a  capital 
posture  whether  for  parley  or  defence.  So  thinking, 
he  drew  his  sword  and  tried  to  set  his  back  against 
the  door.  To  his  surprise,  it  yielded  behind  his 
weight;  and  though  he  turned  in  a  moment,  con- 
tinued to  swing  back  on  oiled  and  noiseless  hinges, 
until  it  stood  wide  open  on  a  black  interior.  When 
things  fall  out  opportunely  for  the  person  concerned 
he  is  not  apt  to  be  critical  about  the  how  or  why,  his 
own  immediate  personal  convenience  seeming  a 
sufficient  reason  for  the  strangest  oddities  and  revo- 
lutions in  our  sublunary  things;  and  so  Denis,  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation,  stepped  within  and 
partly  closed  the  door  behind  him  to  conceal  his 
place  of  refuge.  Nothing  was  further  from  his 
thoughts  than  to  close  it  altogether;  but  for  some 
inexplicable  reason  —  perhaps  by  a  spring  or  a 
weight  —  the  ponderous  mass  of  oak  whipped  itself 
out  of  his  fingers  and  clanked  to,  with  a  formidable 
rumble  and  a  noise  like  the  falling  of  an  automatic 
bar. 

The  round,  at  that  very  moment,  debouched  upon 
the  terrace  and  proceeded  to  summon  him  with 
shouts  and  curses.  He  heard  them  ferreting  in  the 
dark  corners;  the  stock  of  a  lance  even  rattled  along 
the  outer  surface  of  the  door  behind  which  he  stood; 
but  these  gentlemen  were  in  too  high  a  humor  to  be 
long  delayed,  and  soon  made  off  down  a  corkscrew 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROITS    DOOR      311 

pathway  which  had  escaped  Denis's  observation, 
and  passed  out  of  sight  and  hearing  along  the  battle- 
ments of  the  town. 

Denis  breathed  again.  He  gave  them  a  few 
minutes'  grace  for  fear  of  accidents,  and  then  groped 
about  for  some  means  of  opening  the  door  and  slip- 
ping forth  again.  The  inner  surface  was  quite 
smooth,  not  a  handle,  not  a  moulding,  not  a  pro- 
jection of  any  sort.  He  got  his  finger-nails  round  the 
edges  and  pulled,  but  the  mass  was  immovable.  He 
shook  it,  it  was  as  firm  as  a  rock.  Denis  de  Beaulieu 
frowned  and  gave  vent  to  a  little  noiseless  whistle. 
What  ailed  the  door?  he  wondered.  Why  was  it 
open?  How  came  it  to  shut  so  easily  and  so  effec- 
tually after  him?  There  was  something  obscure  and 
underhand  about  all  this  that  was  little  to  the  young 
man's  fancy.  It  looked  like  a  snare;  and  yet  who 
could  suppose  a  snare  in  such  a  quiet  by-street  and 
in  a  house  of  so  prosperous  and  even  noble  an 
exterior?  And  yet  —  snare  or  no  snare,  intention- 
ally or  unintentionally  —  here  he  was,  prettily 
trapped;  and  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  see  no  way 
out  of  it  again.  The  darkness  began  to  weigh  upon 
him.  He  gave  ear;  all  was  silent  without,  but  with- 
in and  close  by  he  seemed  to  catch  a  faint  sighing, 
a  faint  sobbing  rustle,  a  little  stealthy  creak  —  as 
though  many  persons  were  at  his  side,  holding 
themselves  quite  still,  and  governing  even  their 


312  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

respiration  with  the  extreme  of  slyness.  The  idea 
went  to  his  vitals  with  a  shock,  and  he  faced  about 
suddenly  as  if  to  defend  his  life.  Then,  for  the  first 
time,  he  became  aware  of  a  light  about  the  level  of 
his  eyes  and  at  some  distance  in  the  interior  of  the 
house  —  a  vertical  thread  of  light,  widening  towards 
the  bottom,  such  as  might  escape  between  two  wings 
of  arras  over  a  doorway.  To  see  anything  was  a 
relief  to  Denis;  it  was  like  a  piece  of  solid  ground  to 
a  man  laboring  in  a  morass;  his  mind  seized  upon  it 
with  avidity;  and  he  stood  staring  at  it  and  trying 
to  piece  together  some  logical  conception  of  his  sur- 
roundings. Plainly  there  was  a  flight  of  steps 
ascending  from  his  own  level  to  that  of  this  illu- 
inated  doorway;  and  indeed  he  thought  he  could 
make  out  another  thread  of  light,  as  fine  as  a  needle 
and  as  faint  as  phosphorescence,  which  might  very 
well  be  reflected  along  the  polished  wood  of  a  hand- 
rail. Since  he  had  begun  to  suspect  that  he  was  not 
alone,  his  heart  had  continued  to  beat  with  smoth- 
ering violence,  and  an  intolerable  desire  for  action 
of  any  sort  had  possessed  itself  of  his  spirit.  He  was 
in  deadly  peril,  he  believed.  What  could  be  more 
natural  than  to  mount  the  staircase,  lift  the  curtain, 
and  confront  his  difficulty  at  once?  At  least  he 
would  be  dealing  with  something  tangible;  at  least 
he  would  be  no  longer  in  the  dark.  He  stepped 
slowly  forward  with  outstretched  hands,  until  his 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR 


313 


foot  struck  the  bottom  step;  then  he  rapidly  scaled 
the  stairs,  stood  for  a  moment  to  compose  his  expres- 
sion, lifted  the  arras  and  went  in. 

He  found  himself  in  a  large  apartment  of  polished 
stone.  There  were  three  doors;  one  on  each  of 
three  sides;  all  similarly  curtained  with  tapestry. 
The  fourth  side  was  occupied  by  two  large  windows 
and  a  great  stone  chimney-piece,  carved  with  the 
arms  of  the  Maletroits.  Denis  recognized  the 
bearings,  and  was  gratified  to  find  himself  in  such 
good  hands.  The  room  was  strongly  illuminated; 
but  it  contained  little  furniture  except  a  heavy  table 
and  a  chair  or  two,  the  hearth  was  innocent  of  fire, 
and  the  pavement  was  but  sparsely  strewn  with 
rushes  clearly  many  days  old. 

On  a  high  chair  beside  the  chimney,  and  directly 
facing  Denis  as  he  entered,  sat  a  little  old  gentleman 
in  a  fur  tippet.  He  sat  with  his  legs  crossed 
and  his  hands  folded,  and  a  cup  of  spiced 
wine  stood  by  his  elbow  on  a  bracket  on  the 
wall.  His  countenance  had  a  strongly  masculine 
cast;  not  properly  human,  but  such  as  we  see  in  the 
bull,  the  goat,  or  the  domestic  boar;  something 
equivocal  and  wheedling,  something  greedy,  brutal, 
and  dangerous.  The  upper  lip  was  inordinately 
full,  as  though  swollen  by  a  blow  or  a  toothache; 
and  the  smile,  the  peaked  eyebrows,  and  the  small, 
strong  eyes  were  quaintly  and  almost  comically  evil 


314  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

in  expression.  Beautiful  white  hair  hung  straight 
all  round  his  head,  like  a  saint's,  and  fell  in  a  single 
curl  upon  the  tippet.  His  beard  and  mustache 
were  the  pink  of  venerable  sweetness.  Age,  prob- 
ably in  consequence  of  inordinate  precautions,  had 
left  no  mark  upon  his  hands;  and  the  Maletroit 
hand  was  famous.  It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine 
anything  at  once  so  fleshy  and  so  delicate  in  design; 
the  taper,  sensual  fingers  were  like  those  of  one  of 
Leonardo's  women;  the  fork  of  the  thumb  made  a 
dimpled  protuberance  when  closed;  the  nails  were 
perfectly  shaped,  and  of  a  dead,  surprising  whiteness. 
It  rendered  his  aspect  tenfold  more  redoubtable, 
that  a  man  with  hands  like  these  should  keep  them 
devoutly  folded  in  his  lap  like  a  virgin  martyr  — 
that  a  man  with  so  intense  and  startling  an  expres- 
sion of  face  should  sit  patiently  on  his  seat  and  con- 
template people  with  an  unwinking  stare,  like  a 
god,  or  a  god's  statue.  His  quiescence  seemed 
ironical  and  treacherous,  it  fitted  so  poorly  with  his 
look. 

Such  was  Alain,  Sire  de  Maletroit. 

Denis  and  he  looked  silently  at  each  other  for  a 
second  or  two. 

"Pray  step  in,"  said  the  Sire  de  Maletroit.  "I 
have  been  expecting  you  all  the  evening." 

He  had  not  risen,  but  he  accompanied  his  words 
with  a  smile,  and  a  slight  but  courteous  inclination 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR      315 

of  the  head.  Partly  from  the  smile,  partly  from  the 
strange  musical  murmur  with  which  the  Sire  pref- 
aced his  observation,  Denis  felt  a  strong  shudder 
of  disgust  go  through  his  marrow.  And  what  with 
disgust  and  honest  confusion  of  mind,  he  could 
scarcely  get  words  together  in  reply. 

"I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  this  is  a  double  accident. 
I  am  not  the  person  you  suppose  me.  It  seems  you 
were  looking  for  a  visit;  but  for  my  part,  nothing 
was  further  from  my  thoughts  —  nothing  could  be 
more  contrary  to  my  wishes  —  than  this  intrusion." 

"Well,  well,"  replied  the  old  gentleman  indul- 
gently, "here  you  are,  which  is  the  main  point.  Seat 
yourself,  my  friend,  and  put  yourself  entirely  at 
your  ease.  We  shall  arrange  our  little  affairs  pres- 
ently." 

Denis  perceived  that  the  matter  was  still  com- 
plicated with  some  misconception,  and  he  hastened 
to  continue  his  explanations. 

"Your  door  ..."  he  began. 

"About  my  door?"  asked  the  other,  raising  his 
peaked  eyebrows.  "A  little  piece  of  ingenuity." 
And  he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "A  hospitable 
fancy !  By  your  own  account,  you  were  not  desirous 
of  making  my  acquaintance.  We  old  people  look  for 
such  reluctance  now  and  then;  and  when  it  touches 
our  honor,  we  cast  about  until  we  find  some  way  of 
overcoming  it.  You  arrive  uninvited,  but  believe 
me,  very  welcome." 


316  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"You  persist  in  error,  sir,"  said  Denis.  " There 
can  be  no  question  between  you  and  me.  I  am  a 
stranger  in  this  country-side.  My  name  is  Denis, 
damoiseau  de  Beaulieu.  If  you  see  me  in  your 
house  it  is  only " 

"My  young  friend,"  interrupted  the  other,  "you 
will  permit  me  to  have  my  own  ideas  on  that  subject. 
They  probably  differ  from  yours  at  the  present 
moment,"  he  added  with  a  leer,  "but  time  will  show 
which  of  us  is  in  the  right." 

Denis  was  convinced  he  had  to  do  with  a  lunatic. 
He  seated  himself  with  a  shrug,  content  to  wait  the 
upshot;  and  a  pause  ensued,  during  which  he 
thought  he  could  distinguish  a  hurried  gabbling  as 
of  prayer  from  behind  the  arras  immediately 
opposite  him.  Sometimes  there  seemed  to  be  but 
one  person  engaged,  sometimes  two;  and  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  voice,  low  as  it  was,  seemed  to  indicate 
either  great  haste  or  an  agony  of  spirit.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  this  piece  of  tapestry  covered  the  en- 
trance to  the  chapel  he  had  noticed  from  without. 

The  old  gentleman  meanwhile  surveyed  Denis 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  smile,  and  from  time  to 
time  emitted  little  noises  like  a  bird  or  a  mouse, 
which  seemed  to  indicate  a  high  degree  of  satis- 
faction. This  state  of  matters  became  rapidly  in- 
supportable; and  Denis,  to  put  an  end  to  it,  re- 
marked politely  that  the  wind  had  gone  down. 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR      317 

The  old  gentleman  fell  into  a  fit  of  silent  laughter, 
so  prolonged  and  violent  that  he  became  quite  red 
in  the  face.  Denis  got  upon  his  feet  at  once,  and 
put  on  his  hat  with  a  flourish. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "if  you  are  in  your  wits,  you  have 
affronted  me  grossly.  If  you  are  out  of  them,  I 
flatter  myself  I  can  find  better  employment  for  my 
brains  than  to  talk  with  lunatics.  My  conscience  is 
clear;  you  have  made  a  fool  of  me  from  the  first 
moment;  you  have  refused  to  hear  my  explanations; 
and  now  there  is  no  power  under  God  will  make  me 
stay  here  any  longer;  and  if  I  cannot  make  my  way 
out  in  a  more  decent  fashion,  I  will  hack  your  door 
in  pieces  with  my  sword." 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  raised  his  right  hand  and 
wagged  it  at  Denis  with  the  fore  and  little  fingers 
extended. 

"My  dear  nephew,"  he  said,  "sit  down." 

"Nephew!"  retorted  Denis,  "you  lie  in  your 
throat;"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  his  face. 

"Sit  down,  you  rogue!"  cried  the  old  gentleman, 
in  a  sudden,  harsh  voice,  like  the  barking  of  a  dog. 
"Do  you  fancy,"  he  went  on,  "that  when  I  had 
made  my  little  contrivance  for  the  door  I  had 
stopped  short  with  that?  If  you  prefer  to  be  bound 
hand  and  foot  till  your  bones  ache,  rise  and  try  to 
go  away.  If  you  choose  to  remain  a  free  young 
buck,  agreeably  conversing  with  an  old  gentleman  - 


3l8  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

why,  sit  where  you  are  in  peace,  and  God  be  with 
you." 

"Do  you  mean  I  am  a  prisoner?"  demanded 
Denis. 

"I  state  the  facts,"  replied  the  other.  "I  would 
rather  leave  the  conclusion  to  yourself." 

Denis  sat  down  again.  Externally  he  managed  to 
keep  pretty  calm;  but  within,  he  was  now  boiling 
with  anger,  now  chilled  with  apprehension.  He  no 
longer  felt  convinced  that  he  was  dealing  with  a  mad- 
man. And  if  the  old  gentleman  was  sane,  what,  in 
God's  name,  had  he  to  look  for?  What  absurd  or 
tragical  adventure  had  befallen  him?  What  coun- 
tenance was  he  to  assume? 

While  he  was  thus  unpleasantly  reflecting,  the 
arras  that  overhung  the  chapel  door  was  raised,  and 
a  tall  priest  in  his  robes  came  forth  and,  giving  a 
long,  keen  stare  at  Denis,  said  something  in  an 
undertone  to  Sire  de  Maletroit. 

"She  is  in  a  better  frame  of  spirit?"  asked  the 
latter. 

"She  is  more  resigned,  messire,"  replied  the 
priest. 

"Now  the  Lord  help  her,  she  is  hard  to  please!" 
sneered  the  old  gentleman.     "A  likely  stripling  — 
not  ill-born  —  and  of  her  own  choosing,  too.     Why, 
what  more  would  the  jade  have?" 

"The  situation  is  not  usual  for  a  young  damsel," 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR 


319 


said  the  other,  "and  somewhat  trying  to  her 
blushes." 

"She  should  have  thought  of  that  before  she 
began  the  dance.  It  was  none  of  my  choosing,  God 
knows  that;  but  since  she  is  in  it,  by  our  Lady,  she 
shall  carry  it  to  the  end."  And  then  addressing 
Denis,  " Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,"  he  asked,  "may  I 
present  you  to  my  niece?  She  has  been  waiting 
your  arrival,  I  may  say,  with  even  greater  impatience 
than  myself." 

Denis  had  resigned  himself  with  a  good  grace  — 
all  he  desired  was  to  know  the  worst  of  it  as  speedily 
as  possible;  so  he  rose  at  once,  and  bowed  in 
acquiescence.  The  Sire  de  Maletroit  followed  his 
example  and  limped,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
chaplain's  arm,  towards  the  chapel-door.  The 
priest  pulled  aside  the  arras,  and  all  three  entered. 
The  building  had  considerable  architectural  pre- 
tensions. A  light  groining  sprang  from  six  stout 
columns,  and  hung  down  in  two  rich  pendants  from 
the  centre  of  the  vault.  The  place  terminated 
behind  the  altar  in  a  round  end,  embossed  and 
honeycombed  with  a  superfluity  of  ornament  in 
relief,  and  pierced  by  many  little  windows  shaped 
like  stars,  trefoils,  or  wheels.  These  windows  were 
imperfectly  glazed,  so  that  the  night  air  circulated 
freely  in  the  chapel.  The  tapers,  of  which  there 
must  have  been  half  a  hundred  burning  on  the  altar, 


320  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

were  unmercifully  blown  about;  and  the  light  went 
through  many  different  phases  of  brilliancy  and 
semi-eclipse.  On  the  steps  in  front  of  the  altar 
knelt  a  young  girl  richly  attired  as  a  bride.  A  chill 
settled  over  Denis  as  he  observed  her  costume;  he 
fought  with  desperate  energy  against  the  conclusion 
that  was  being  thrust  upon  his  mind;  it  could  not  — 
it  should  not  —  be  as  he  feared. 

"Blanche,"  said  the  Sire,  in  his  most  flute-like 
tones,  "I  have  brought  a  friend  to  see  you,  my  little 
girl;  turn  round  and  give  him  your  pretty  hand. 
It  is  good  to  be  devout;  but  it  is  necessary  to  be 
polite,  my  niece." 

The  girl  rose  to  her  feet  and  turned  towards  the 
new-comers.  She  moved  all  of  a  piece;  and  shame 
and  exhaustion  were  expressed  in  every  line  of  her 
fresh  young  body;  and  she  held  her  head  down  and 
kept  her  eyes  upon  the  pavement,  as  she  came 
slowly  forward.  In  the  course  of  her  advance,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  feet  —  feet  of 
which  he  was  justly  vain,  be  it  remarked,  and  wore 
in  the  most  elegant  accoutrement  even  while  travel- 
ling. She  paused  —  started,  as  if  his  yellow  boots 
had  conveyed  some  shocking  meaning  —  and 
glanced  suddenly  up  into  the  wearer's  countenance. 
Their  eyes  met;  shame  gave  place  to  horror  and 
terror  in  her  looks;  the  blood  left  her  lips;  with  a 
piercing  scream  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
and  sank  upon  the  chapel  floor. 


THE   SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S   DOOR     321 

"That  is  not  the  man!"  she  cried.  "My  uncle, 
that  is  not  the  man!" 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  chirped  agreeably.  "Of 
course  not,"  he  said,  "I  expected  as  much.  It  was 
so  unfortunate  you  could  not  remember  his  name." 

"Indeed,"  she  cried,  "indeed,  I  have  never  seen 
this  person  till  this  moment  —  I  have  never  so 
much  as  set  eyes  upon  him  —  I  never  wish  to  see 
him  again.  Sir,"  she  said,  turning  to  Denis,  "if  you 
are  a  gentleman,  you  will  bear  me  out.  Have  I  ever 
seen  you  —  have  you  ever  seen  me  —  before  this 
accursed  hour?" 

"To  speak  for  myself,  I  have  never  had  that 
pleasure,"  answered  the  young  man.  "This  is  the 
first  time,  messire,  that  I  have  met  with  your  en- 
gaging niece." 

The  old  gentleman  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  distressed  to  hear  it,"  he  said.  "But  it  is 
never  too  late  to  begin.  I  had  little  more  acquaint- 
ance with  my  own  late  lady  ere  I  married  her; 
which  proves,"  he  added  with  a  grimace,  "that 
these  impromptu  marriages  may  often  produce  an 
excellent  understanding  in  the  long-run.  As  the 
bridegroom  is  to  have  a  voice  in  the  matter,  I  will 
give  him  two  hours  to  make  up  for  lost  time  before 
we  proceed  with  the  ceremony."  And  he  turned 
towards  the  door,  followed  by  the  clergyman. 

The  girl  was  on  her  feet  in  a  moment.     "My 


322  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

uncle,  you  cannot  be  in  earnest,"  she  said.  "I 
declare  before  God  I  will  stab  myself  rather  than 
be  forced  on  that  young  man.  The  heart  rises  at  it; 
God  forbids  such  marriages;  you  dishonor  your 
white  hair.  Oh,  my  uncle,  pity  me !  There  is  not  a 
woman  in  all  the  world  but  would  prefer  death  to 
such  a  nuptial.  Is  it  possible,"  she  added,  faltering 
— "is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  believe  me  —  that 
you  still  think  this" — and  she  pointed  at  Denis 
with  a  tremor  of  anger  and  contempt — "that  you 
still  think  this  to  be  the  man?" 

"Frankly,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  pausing  on 
the  threshold,  "I  do.  But  let  me  explain  to  you 
once  for  all,  Blanche  de  Maletroit,  my  way  of  think- 
ing about  this  affair.  When  you  took  it  into  your 
head  to  dishonor  my  family  and  the  name  that  I 
have  borne,  in  peace  and  war,  for  more  than  three- 
score years,  you  forfeited,  not  only  the  right  to 
question  my  designs,  but  that  of  looking  me  in  the 
face.  If  your  father  had  been  alive,  he  would  have 
spat  on  you  and  turned  you  out  of  doors.  His  was 
the  hand  of  iron.  You  may  bless  your  God  you 
have  only  to  deal  with  the  hand  of  velvet,  made- 
moiselle. It  was  my  duty  to  get  you  married  with- 
out delay.  Out  of  pure  goodwill,  I  have  tried  to 
find  your  own  gallant  for  you.  And  I  believe  I  have 
succeeded.  But  before  God  and  all  the  holy  angels, 
Blanche  de  Maletroit,  if  I  have  not,  I  care  not  one 


THE    SIRE    DE   MALETROIT'S    DOOR      323 

jack-straw.  So  let  me  recommend  you  to  be  polite 
to  our  young  friend;  for  upon  my  word,  your  next 
groom  may  be  less  appetizing." 

And  with  that  he  went  out,  with  the  chaplain  at 
his  heels;  and  the  arras  fell  behind  the  pair. 

The  girl  turned  upon  Denis  with  flashing  eyes. 

"And  what,  sir,"  she  demanded,  "may  be  the 
meaning  of  all  this?" 

"God  knows,"  returned  Denis  gloomily.  "I  am 
a  prisoner  in  this  house,  which  seems  full  of  mad 
people.  More  I  know  not;  and  nothing  do  I  under- 
stand." 

"And  pray  how  came  you  here?"  she  asked. 

He  told  her  as  briefly  as  he  could.  "  For  the  rest," 
he  added,  "perhaps  you  will  follow  my  example,  and 
tell  me  the  answer  to  all  these  riddles,  and  what,  in 
God's  name,  is  like  to  be  the  end  of  it." 

She  stood  silent  for  a  little,  and  he  could  see  her 
lips  tremble  and  her  tearless  eyes  burn  with  a 
feverish  lustre.  Then  she  pressed  her  forehead  in 
both  hands. 

"Alas,  how  my  head  aches!"  she  said  wearily, 
"to  say  nothing  of  my  poor  heart!  But  it  is  due  to 
you  to  know  my  story,  unmaidenly  as  it  must  seem. 
I  am  called  Blanche  de  Maletroit :  I  have  been  with- 
out father  or  mother  for  —  oh !  for  as  long  as  I  can 
recollect,  and  indeed  I  have  been  most  unhappy  all 
my  life.  Three  months  ago  a  young  captain  began 


324  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

to  stand  near  me  every  day  in  church.  I  could  see 
that  I  pleased  him;  I  am  much  to  blame,  but  I  was 
so  glad  that  any  one  should  love  me;  and  when  he 
passed  me  a  letter,  I  took  it  home  with  me  and  read 
it  with  great  pleasure.  Since  that  time  he  has 
written  many.  He  was  so  anxious  to  speak  with 
me,  poor  fellow!  and  kept  asking  me  to  leave  the 
door  open  some  evening  that  we  might  have  two 
words  upon  the  stair.  For  he  knew  how  much  my 
uncle  trusted  me."  She  gave  something  like  a  sob 
at  that,  and  it  was  a  moment  before  she  could  go  on. 
"My  uncle  is  a  hard  man,  but  he  is  very  shrewd," 
she  said  at  last.  "He  has  performed  many  feats  in 
war,  and  was  a  great  person  at  court,  and  much 
trusted  by  Queen  Isabeau  in  old  days.  How  he  came 
to  suspect  me  I  cannot  tell;  but  it  is  hard  to  keep 
anything  from  his  knowledge;  and  this  morning,  as 
we  came  from  mass,  he  took  my  hand  in  his,  forced 
it  open,  and  read  my  little  billet,  walking  by  my  side 
all  the  while.  When  he  had  finished,  he  gave  it  back 
to  me  with  great  politeness.  It  contained  another 
request  to  have  the  door  left  open;  and  this  has 
been  the  ruin  of  us  all.  My  uncle  kept  me  strictly 
in  my  room  until  evening,  and  then  ordered  me  to 
dress  myself  as  you  see  me  —  a  hard  mockery  for  a 
young  girl,  do  you  not  think  so?  I  suppose,  when  he 
could  not  prevail  with  me  to  tell  him  the  young 
captain's  name,  he  must  have  laid  a  trap  for  him: 


THE   SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S    DOOR 


325 


into  which,  alas!  you  have  fallen  in  the  anger  of 
God.  I  looked  for  much  confusion;  for  how  could  I 
tell  whether  he  was  willing  to  take  me  for  his  wife 
on  these  sharp  terms?  He  might  have  been  trifling 
with  me  from  the  first;  or  I  might  have  made  myself 
too  cheap  in  his  eyes.  But  truly  I  had  not  looked 
for  such  a  shameful  punishment  as  this!  I  could  not 
think  that  God  would  let  a  girl  be  so  disgraced  before 
a  young  man.  And  now  I  have  told  you  all;  and  I 
can  scarcely  hope  that  you  will  not  despise  me." 

Denis  made  her  a  respectful  inclination. 

"Madam,"  he  said,  "you  have  honored  me  by 
your  confidence.  It  remains  for  me  to  prove  that  I 
am  not  unworthy  of  the  honor.  Is  Messire  de 
Maletroit  at  hand?" 

"I  believe  he  is  writing  in  the  salle  without,"  she 
answered. 

"May  I  lead  you  thither,  madam?"  asked  Denis, 
offering  his  hand  with  his  most  courtly  bearing. 

She  accepted  it;  and  the  pair  passed  out  of  the 
chapel,  Blanche  in  a  very  drooping  and  shamefast 
condition,  but  Denis  strutting  and  ruffling  in  the 
consciousness  of  a  mission,  and  the  boyish  certainty 
of  accomplishing  it  with  honor. 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  rose  to  meet  them  with  an 
ironical  obeisance. 

"Sir,"  said  Denis,  with  the  grandest  possible  air, 
"I  believe  I  am  to  have  some  say  in  the  matter  of 


326  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

this  marriage;  and  let  me  tell  you  at  once,  I  will  be 
rio  party  to  forcing  the  inclination  of  this  young 
lady.  Had  it  been  freely  offered  to  me,  I  should 
have  been  proud  to  accept  her  hand,  for  I  perceive 
she  is  as  good  as  she  is  beautiful;  but  as  things  are, 
I  have  now  the  honor,  messire,  of  refusing.'7 

Blanche  looked  at  him  with  gratitude  in  her  eyes; 
but  the  old  gentleman  only  smiled  and  smiled,  until 
his  smile  grew  positively  sickening  toDenis. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "Monsieur  de  Beaulieu, 
that  you  do  not  perfectly  understand  the  choice  I 
have  to  offer  you.  Follow  me,  I  beseech  you,  to  this 
window."  And  he  led  the  way  to  one  of  the  large 
windows  which  stood  open  on  the  night.  "You 
observe,"  he  went  on,  "there  is  an  iron  ring  in  the 
upper  masonry,  and  reeved  through  that  a  very 
efficacious  rope.  Now,  mark  my  words:  if  you 
should  find  your  disinclination  to  my  niece's  person 
insurmountable,  I  shall  have  you  hanged  out  of  this 
window  before  sunrise.  I  shall  only  proceed  to  such 
an  extremity  with  the  greatest  regret,  you  may 
believe  me.  For  it  is  not  at  all  your  death  that  I 
desire,  but  my  niece's  establishment  in  life.  At  the 
same  time,  it  must  come  to  that  if  you  prove 
obstinate.  Your  family,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  is 
very  well  in  its  way;  but  if  you  sprang  from  Char- 
lemagne, you  should  not  refuse  the  hand  of  a  Male- 
troit  with  impunity — not  if  she  had  been  as  common 


THE   SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S    DOOR      327 

as  the  Paris  road  —  not  if  she  were  as  hideous  as  the 
gargoyle  over  my  door.  Neither  my  niece  nor  you, 
nor  my  own  private  feelings,  move  me  at  all  in  this 
matter.  The  honor  of  my  house  has  been  com- 
promised; I  believe  you  to  be  the  guilty  person ;  at 
least  you  are  now  in  the  secret;  and  you  can  hardly 
wonder  if  I  request  you  to  wipe  out  the  stain.  If 
you  will  not,  your  blood  be  on  your  own  head!  It 
will  be  no  great  satisfaction  to  me  to  have  your 
interesting  relics  kicking  their  heels  in  the  breeze 
below  my  windows;  but  half  a  loaf  is  better  than  no 
bread,  and  if  I  cannot  cure  the  dishonor,  I  shall  at 
least  stop  the  scandal." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"I  believe  there  are  other  ways  of  settling  such 
imbroglios  among  gentlemen,"  said  Denis.  "You 
wear  a  sword,  and  I  hear  you  have  used  it  with 
distinction." 

The  Sire  de  Maletroit  made  a  signal  to  the  chap- 
lain, who  crossed  the  room  with  long,  silent  strides 
and  raised  the  arras  over  the  third  of  the  three  doors. 
It  was  only  a  moment  before  he  let  it  fall  again;  but 
Denis  had  time  to  see  a  dusky  passage  full  of  armed 
men. 

"When  I  was  a  little  younger,  I  should  have  been 
delighted  to  honor  you,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu," 
said  Sire  Alain;  "but  I  am  now  too  old.  Faithful 
retainers  are  the  sinews  of  age,  and  I  must  employ 


328  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

the  strength  I  have.  This  is  one  of  the  hardest 
things  to  swallow  as  a  man  grows  up  in  years;  but 
with  a  little  patience,  even  this  becomes  habitual. 
You  and  the  lady  seem  to  prefer  the  salle  for  what 
remains  of  your  two  hours;  and  as  I  have  no  desire 
to  cross  your  preference,  I  shall  resign  it  to  your  use 
with  all  the  pleasure  in  the  world.  No  haste!"  he 
added,  holding  up  his  hand,  as  he  saw  a  dangerous 
look  come  into  Denis  de  Beaulieu's  face.  "If  your 
mind  revolts  against  hanging,  it  will  be  time  enough 
two  hours  hence  to  throw  yourself  out  of  the  window 
or  upon  the  pikes  of  my  retainers.  Two  hours  of 
life  are  always  two  hours.  A  great  many  things  may 
turn  up  in  even  as  little  a  while  as  that.  And, 
besides,  if  I  understand  her  appearance,  my  niece 
has  still  something  to  say  to  you.  You  will  not  dis- 
figure your  last  hours  by  a  want  of  politeness  to  a 
lady?" 

Denis  looked  at  Blanche,  and  she  made  him  an 
imploring  gesture. 

It  is  likely  that  the  old  gentleman  was  hugely 
pleased  at  this  symptom  of  an  understanding;  for  he 
smiled  on  both,  and  added  sweetly:  "If  you  will 
give  me  your  word  of  honor,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu, 
to  await  my  return  at  the  end  of  the  two  hours  before 
attempting  anything  desperate,  I  shall  withdraw  my 
retainers,  and  let  you  speak  in  greater  privacy  with 
mademoiselle." 


THE   SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR      329 

Denis  again  glanced  at  the  girl,  who  seemed  to 
beseech  him  to  agree. 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,"  he  said. 

Messire  de  Maletroit  bowed,  and  proceeded  to 
limp  about  the  apartment,  clearing  his  throat  the 
while  with  that  odd  musical  chirp  which  had  already 
grown  so  irritating  in  the  ears  of  Denis  de  Beaulieu. 
He  first  possessed  himself  of  some  papers  which  lay 
upon  the  table;  then  he  went  to  the  mouth  of  the 
passage  and  appeared  to  give  an  order  to  the  men 
behind  the  arras;  and  lastly,  he  hobbled  out  through 
the  door  by  which  Denis  had  come  in,  turning  upon 
the  threshold  to  address  a  last  smiling  bow  to  the 
young  couple,  and  followed  by  the  chaplain  with  a 
hand  lamp. 

No  sooner  were  they  alone  than  Blanche  advanced 
toward  Denis  with  her  hands  extended.  Her  face 
was  flushed  and  excited,  and  her  eyes  shone  with 
tears. 

"You  shall  not  die!"  she  said,  "you  shall  marry 
me  after  all." 

"You  seem  to  think,  madam,"  replied  Denis, 
"that  I  stand  much  in  fear  of  death." 

"Oh  no,  no,"  she  said,  "I  see  you  are  no  pol- 
troon. It  is  for  my  own  sake  —  I  could  not  bear  to 
have  you  slain  for  such  a  scruple." 

"I  am  afraid,"  returned  Denis,  "that  you  under^ 
rate  the  difficulty,  madam.  What  you  may  be 


330  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

too  generous  to  refuse,  I  may  be  too  proud  to  accept. 
In  a  moment  of  noble  feeling  towards  me,  you 
forgot  what  you  perhaps  owe  to  others." 

He  had  the  decency  to  keep  his  eyes  upon  the 
floor  as  he  said  this,  and  after  he  had  finished,  so  as 
not  to  spy  upon  her  confusion.  She  stood  silent  for 
a  moment,  then  walked  suddenly  away,  and  falling 
on  her  uncle's  chair,  fairly  burst  out  sobbing.  Denis 
was  in  the  acme  of  embarrassment.  He  looked 
round,  as  if  to  seek  for  inspiration,  and  seeing  a 
stool,  plumped  down  upon  it  for  something  to  do. 
There  he.  sat,  playing  with  the  guard  of  his  rapier, 
and  wishing  himself  dead  a  thousand  times  over, 
and  buried  in  the  nastiest  kitchen-heap  in  France. 
His  eyes  wandered  round  the  apartment,  but  found 
nothing  to  arrest  them.  There  were  such  wide 
spaces  between  the  furniture,  the  light  fell  so  badly 
and  cheerlessly  over  all,  the  dark  outside  air  looked 
in  so  coldly  through  the  windows,  that  he  thought  he 
had  never  seen  a  church  so  vast,  nor  a  tomb  so 
melancholy.  The  regular  sobs  of  Blanche  de  Male- 
troit  measured  out  the  time  like  the  ticking  of  a 
clock.  He  read  the  device  upon  the  shield  over  and 
over  again,  until  his  eyes  became  obscured;  he 
stared  into  shadowy  corners  until  he  imagined  they 
were  swarming  with  horrible  animals;  and  every 
now  and  again  he  awoke  with  a  start,  to  remember 
that  his  last  two  hours  were  running,  and  death  was 
on  the  march. 


THE    SIRE    DE   MALETROITS    DOOR 


351 


Oftener  and  oftener,  as  the  time  went  on,  did  his 
glance  settle  on  the  girl  herself.  Her  face  was 
bowed  forward  and  covered  with  her  hands,  and  she 
was  shaken  at  intervals  by  the  convulsive  hiccup  of 
grief.  Even  thus  she  was  not  an  unpleasant  object 
to  dwell  upon,  so  plump  and  yet  so  fine,  with  a 
warm  brown  skin,  and  the  most  beautiful  hair, 
Denis  thought,  in  the  whole  world  of  womankind. 
Her  hands  were  like  her  uncle's;  but  they  were  more 
in  place  at  the  end  of  her  young  arms,  and  looked 
infinitely  soft  and  caressing.  He  remembered  how 
her  blue  eyes  had  shone  upon  him,  full  of  anger,  pity, 
and  innocence.  And  the  more  he  dwelt  on  her  per- 
fections, the  uglier  death  looked,  and  the  more 
deeply  was  he  smitten  with  penitence  at  her  con- 
tinued tears.  Now  he  felt  that  no  man  could  have 
the  courage  to  leave  a  world  which  contained  so 
beautiful  a  creature;  and  now  he  would  have  given 
forty  minutes  of  his  last  hour  to  have  unsaid  his 
cruel  speech. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse  and  ragged  peal  of  cockcrow 
rose  to  their  ears  from  the  dark  valley  below  the 
windows.  And  this  shattering  noise  in  the  silence  of 
all  around  was  like  a  light  in  a  dark  place,  and  shook 
them  both  out  of  their  reflections. 

"Alas,  can  I  do  nothing  to  help  you?"  she  said, 
looking  up. 

"Madam,"  replied  Denis,  with  a  fine  irrelevancy, 


332  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"if  I  have  said  anything  to  wound  you,  believe  me, 
it  was  for  your  own  sake  and  not  for  mine." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  tearful  look. 

"I  feel  your  position  cruelly,"  he  went  on.  "The 
world  has  been  bitter  hard  on  you.  Your  uncle  is  a 
disgrace  to  mankind.  Believe  me,  madam,  there  is 
no  young  gentleman  in  all  France  but  would  be  glad 
of  my  opportunity,  to  die  in  doing  you  a  momentary 
service." 

"I  know  already  that  you  can  be  very  brave  and 
generous,"  she  answered.  "What  I  want  to  know  is 
whether  I  can  serve  you  —  now  or  afterwards," 
she  added,  with  a  quaver. 

"Most  certainly,"  he  answered  with  a  smile. 
"Let  me  sit  beside  you  as  if  I  were  a  friend,  instead 
of  a  foolish  intruder;  try  to  forget  how  awkwardly 
we  are  placed  to  one  another;  make  my  last  mo- 
ments go  pleasantly;  and  you  will  do  me  the  chief 
service  possible." 

"You  are  very  gallant,"  she  added,  with  a  yet 
deeper  sadness  .  .  .  "very  gallant  .  .  .  and  it 
somehow  pains  me.  But  draw  nearer,  if  you  please; 
and  if  you  find  anything  to  say  to  me,  you  will  at 
least  make  certain  of  a  very  friendly  listener. 
Ah!  Monsieur '  de  Beaulieu,"  she  broke  forth  — 
"ah!  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  how  can  I  look  you  in 
the  face?"  And  she  fell  to  weeping  again  with  a 
renewed  effusion. 


THE    SIRE    DE    MALETROIT'S    DOOR      333 

"Madam,"  said  Denis,  taking  her  hand  in  both  of 
his,  "reflect  on  the  little  time  I  have  before  me,  and 
the  great  bitterness  into  which  I  am  cast  by  the 
sight  of  your  distress.  Spare  me,  in  my  last  mo- 
ments, the  spectacle  of  what  I  cannot  cure  even  with 
the  sacrifice  of  my  life." 

"  I  am  very  selfish,"  answered  Blanche.  "  I  will  be 
braver,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu,  for  your  sake.  But 
think  if  I  can  do  you  no  kindness  in  the  future  —  if 
you  have  no  friends  to  whom  I  could  carry  your 
adieux.  Charge  me  as  heavily  as  you  can;  every 
burden  will  lighten,  by  so  little,  the  invaluable 
gratitude  I  owe  you.  Put  it  in  my  power  to  do 
something  more  for  you  than  weep." 

"My  mother  is  married  again,  and  has  a  young 
family  to  care  for.  My  brother  Guichard  will 
inherit  my  fiefs;  and  if  I  am  not  in  error,  that  will 
content  him  amply  for  my  death.  Life  is  a  little 
vapor  that  passeth  away,  as  we  are  told  by  those  in 
holy  orders.  When  a  man  is  in  a  fair  way  and  sees 
all  life  open  in  front  of  him,  he  seems  to  himself  to 
make  a  very  important  figure  in  the  world.  His 
horse  whinnies  to  him;  the  trumpets  blow  and  the 
girls  look  out  of  window  as  he  rides  into  town  before 
his  company;  he  receives  many  assurances  of  trust 
and  regard  —  sometimes  by  express  in  a  letter  — 
sometimes  face  to  face,  with  persons  of  great  conse- 
quence falling  on  his  neck.  It  is  not  wonderful  if 


334  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

his  head  is  turned  for  a  time.  But  once  he  is  dead, 
were  he  as  brave  as  Hercules  or  as  wise  as  Solomon, 
he  is  soon  forgotten.  It  is  not  ten  years  since  my 
father  fell,  with  many  other  knights  around  him, 
in  a  very  fierce  encounter,  and  I  do  not  think  that 
any  one  of  them,  nor  so  much  as  the  name  of  the 
fight,  is  now  remembered.  No,  no,  madam,  the 
nearer  you  come  to  it,  you  see  that  death  is  a  dark 
and  dusty  corner,  where  a  man  gets  into  his  tomb 
and  has  the  door  shut  after  him  till  the  judgment 
day.  I  have  few  friends  just  now,  and  once  I  am 
dead  I  shall  have  none." 

"Ah,  Monsieur  de  Beaulieu!"  she  exclaimed, 
"you  forget  Blanche  de  Maletroit." 

"You  have  a  sweet  nature,  madam,  and  you  are 
pleased  to  estimate  a  little  service  far  beyond  its 
worth." 

" It  is  not  that,"  she  answered.  "You  mistake  me 
if  you  think  I  am  so  easily  touched  by  my  own  con- 
cerns. I  say  so,  because  you  are  the  noblest  man  I 
have  ever  met;  because  I  recognize  in  you  a  spirit 
that  would  have  made  even  a  common  person 
famous  in  the  land." 

"And  yet  here  I  die  in  a  mousetrap  —  with  no 
more  noise  about  it  than  my  own  squeaking," 
answered  he. 

A  look  of  pain  crossed  her  face,  and  she  was  silent 
for  a  little  while.  Then  a  light  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  with  a  smile  she  spoke  again. 


THE    SIRE    DE    MAL^TROIT'S    DOOR      335 

"I  cannot  have  my  champion  think  meanly  of 
himself.  Any  one  who  gives  his  life  for  another  will 
be  met  in  Paradise  by  all  the  heralds  and  angels  of 
the  Lord  God.  And  you  have  no  such  cause  to 
hang  your  head.  For  .  .  .  pray,  do  you  think  me 
beautiful?"  she  asked,  with  a  deep  •flush. 

"Indeed,  madam,  I  do,"  he  said. 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  answered  heartily.  "Do 
you  think  there  are  many  men  in  France  who  have 
been  asked  in  marriage  by  a  beautiful  maiden  — 
with  her  own  lips  —  and  who  have  refused  her  to 
her  face?  I  know  you  men  would  half  despise  such 
a  triumph;  but  believe  me,  we  women  know  more  of 
what  is  precious  in  love.  There  is  nothing  that 
should  set  a  person  higher  in  his  own  esteem;  and  we 
women  would  prize  nothing  more  dearly." 

"You  are  very  good,"  he  said;  "but  you  cannot 
make  me  forget  that  I  was  asked  in  pity  and  not  for 
love." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  she  replied,  holding 
down  her  head.  "Hear  me  to  an  end,  Monsieur  de 
Beaulieu.  I  know  how  you  must  despise  me;  I  feel 
you  are  right  to  do  so;  I  am  too  poor  a  creature  to 
occupy  one  thought  of  your  mind,  although,  alas! 
you  must  die  for  me  this  morning.  But  when  I 
asked  you  to  marry  me,  indded,  and  indeed,  it  was 
because  I  respected  and  admired  you,  and  loved  you 
with  my  whole  soul,  from  the  very  moment  that 


336  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

you  took  my  part  against  my  uncle.  If  you  had 
seen  yourself,  and  how  noble  you  looked,  you  would 
pity  rather  than  despise  me.  And  now,"  she  went 
on,  hurriedly  checking  him  with  her  hand,  "although 
I  have  laid  aside  all  reserve  and  told  you  so  much, 
remember  that  I  know  your  sentiments  towards  me 
already.  I  would  not,  believe  me,  being  nobly  born, 
weary  you  with  importunities  into  consent.  I  too 
have  a  pride  of  my  own;  and  I  declare  before  the 
holy  mother  of  God,  if  you  should  now  go  back  from 
your  word  already  given,  I  would  no  more  marry  you 
than  I  would  marry  my  uncle's  groom." 

Denis  smiled  a  little  bitterly. 

"It  is  a  small  love,"  he  said,  "that  shies  at  a  little 
pride." 

She  made  no  answer,  although  she  probably  had 
her  own  thoughts. 

"Come  hither  to  the  window,"  he  said,  with  a 
sigh.  "Here  is  the  dawn." 

And  indeed  the  dawn  was  already  beginning.  The 
hollow  of  the  sky  was  full  of  essential  daylight, 
colorless  and  clean;  and  the  valley  underneath  was 
flooded  with  a  gray  reflection.  A  few  thin  vapors 
clung  in  the  coves  of  the  forest  or  lay  along  the  wind- 
ing course  of  the  river.  The  scene  disengaged  a  sur- 
prising effect  of  stillness,  which  was  hardly  inter- 
rupted when  the  cocks  began  once  more  to  crow 
among  the  steadings.  Perhaps  the  same  fellow 


THE   SIRE   DE   MALETROIT'S   DOOR     337 

who  had  made  so  horrid  a  clangor  in  the  darkness 
not  half-an-hour  before,  now  sent  up  the  merriest 
cheer  to  greet  the  coming  day.  A  little  wind  went 
bustling  and  eddying  among  the  tree-tops  un- 
derneath the  windows.  And  still  the  daylight  kept 
flooding  insensibly  out  of  the  east,  which  was  soon 
to  grow  incandescent  and  cast  up  that  red-hot 
cannon  ball,  the  rising  sun. 

Denis  looked  out  over  all  this  with  a  bit  of  a 
shiver.  He  had  taken  her  hand,  and  retained  it  in 
his  almost  unconsciously. 

"Has  the  day  begun  already?"  she  said;  and 
then,  illogically  enough:  "the  night  has  been  so 
long!  Alas!  what  shall  we  say  to  my  uncle  when  he 
returns?" 

"What  you  will,"  said  Denis,  and  he  pressed  her 
fingers  in  his. 

She  was  silent. 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  with  a  swift,  uncertain,  pas- 
sionate utterance,  "you  have  seen  whether  I  fear 
death.  You  must  know  well  enough  that  I  would 
as  gladly  leap  out  of  that  window  into  the  empty  air 
as  lay  a  finger  on  you  without  your  free  and  full 
consent.  But  if  you  care  for  me  at  all  do  not  let  me 
lose  my  life  in  a  misapprehension;  for  I  love  you 
better  than  the  whole  world;  and  though  I  will  die 
for  you  blithely,  it  would  be  like  all  the  joys  of 
Paradise  to  live  on  and  spend  my  life  in  your 


338  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

As  he  stopped  speaking,  a  bell  began  to  ring 
loudly  in  the  interior  of  the  house;  and  a  clatter  of 
armor  in  the  corridor  showed  that  the  retainers  were 
returning  to  their  post,  and  the  two  hours  were  at  an 
end. 

"After  all  that  you  have  heard?"  she  whispered, 
leaning  towards  him  with  her  lips  and  eyes. 

"I  have  heard  nothing,"  he  replied. 

"The  captain's  name  was  Florimond  de  Champ- 
divers,"  she  said  in  his  ear. 

"I  did  not  hear  it,"  he  answered,  taking  her  supple 
body  in  his  arms  and  covering  her  wet  face  with 
kisses. 

A  melodious  chirping  was  audible  behind,  fol- 
lowed by  a  beautiful  chuckle,  and  the  voice  of 
Messire  de  Maletroit  wished  his  new  nephew  a  good 
morning. 


MARKHEIM 
BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


MARKHEIM 

"YES,"  said  the  dealer,  "our  windfalls  are  of 
various  kinds.  Some  customers  are  ignorant,  and  then 
I  touch  a  dividend  on  my  superior  knowledge.  Some 
are  dishonest/'  and  here  he  held  up  the  candle,  so 
that  the  light  fell  strongly  on  his  visitor,  "and  in 
that  case,"  he  continued,  "I  profit  by  my  virtue." 

Markheim  had  but  just  entered  from  the  daylight 
streets,  and  his  eyes  had  not  yet  grown  familiar  with 
the  mingled  shine  and  darkness  in  the  shop.  At 
these  pointed  words,  and  before  the  near  presence  of 
the  flame,  he  blinked  painfully  and  looked  aside. 

The  dealer  chuckled.  "You  come  to  me  on 
Christmas  Day,"  he  resumed,  "when  you  know 
that  I  am  alone  in  my  house,  put  up  my  shutters, 
and  make  a  point  of  refusing  business.  Well,  you 
will  have  to  pay  for  that;  you  will  have  to  pay  for 
my  loss  of  time,  when  I  should  be 'balancing  my 
books;  you  will  have  to  pay,  besides,  for~arkind  of 
manner  that  I  remark  in  you  to-day  very  strongly. 
I  am  the  essence  of  discretion,  and  ask  no  awkward 
questions;  but  when  a  customer  cannot  look  me 
in  the  eye,  he  has  to  pay  for  it."  The  dealer  once 
more  chuckled;  and  then,  changing  to  his  usual 
business  voice,  though  still  with  a  note  of  irony, 
34 i 


342 


BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 


"You  can  give,  as  usual,  a  clear  account  of  how  you 
came  into  the  possession  of  the  object?"  he 
continued.  "  Still  your  uncle's  cabinet?  A  re- 
markable collector,  sir!" 

And  the  little  pale,  round-shouldered  dealer  stood 
almost  on  tip-toe,  looking  over  the  top  of  his  gold 
spectacles,  and  nodding  his  head  with  every  mark  of 
disbelief.  Markheim  returned  his  gaze  with  one  of 
infinite  pity,  and  a  touch  of  horror. 

"This  time,"  said  he,  "you  are  in  error.  I  have 
not  come  to  sell,  but  to  buy.  I  have  no  curios  to 
dispose  of;  my  uncle's  cabinet  is  bare  to  the  wain- 
scot; even  were  it  still  intact,  I  have  done  well  on 
the  Stock  Exchange,  and  should  more  likely  add  to 
it  than  otherwise,  and  my  errand  to-day  is  simplicity 
itself.  I  seek  a  Christmas  present  for  a  lady,"  he 
continued,  waxing  more  fluent  as  he  struck  into  the 
speech  he  had  prepared;  "and  certainly  I  owe  you 
every  excuse  for  thus  disturbing  you  upon  so  small  a 
matter.  But  the  thing  was  neglected  yesterday; 
I  must  produce  my  little  compliment  at  dinner; 
and,  as  you  very  well  know,  a  rich  marriage  is  not 
a  thing  to  be  neglected." 

There  followed  a  pause,  during  which  the  dealer 
seemed  to  weigh  this  statement  incredulously.  The 
ticking  of  many  clocks  among  the  curious  lumber  of 
the  shop,  and  the  faint  rushing  of  the  cabs  in  a  near 
thoroughfare,  filled  up  the  interval  of  silence. 


MARKHEIM  343 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  dealer,  " be  it  so.  You  are  an 
old  customer,  after  all;  and  if,  as  you  say,  you  have 
the  chance  of  a  good  marriage,  far  be  it  from  me  to  be 
an  obstacle.  Here  is  a  nice  thing  for  a  lady  now,"  he 
went  on,  "this  hand  glass  —  fifteenth  century, 
warranted;  comes  from  a  good  collection,  too;  but 
I  reserve  the  name,  in  the  interests  of  my  customer, 
who  was  just  like  yourself,  my  dear  sir,  the  nephew 
and  sole  heir  of  a  remarkable  collector." 

The  dealer,  while  he  thus  ran  on  in  his  dry  and 
biting  voice,  had  stooped  to  take  the  object  from  its 
place;  and,  as  he  had  done  so,  a  shock  had  passed 
through  Markheim,  a  start  both  of  hand  and  foot,  a 
sudden  leap  of  many  tumultuous  passions  to  the 
face.  It  passed  as  swiftly  as  it  came,  and  left  no 
trace  beyond  a  certain  trembling  of  the  hand  that 
now  received  the  glass. 

"A  glass,"  he  said  hoarsely,  and  then  paused,  and 
repeated  it  more  clearly.  "A  glass?  For  Christmas? 
Surely  not!" 

"And  why  not?"  cried  the  dealer.  "Why  not  a 
glass?" 

Markheim  was  looking  upon  him  with  an  in- 
definable expression.  "You  ask  me  why  not?"  he 
said.  "Why,  look  here  — look  in  it  —  look  at 
yourself!  Do  you  like  to  see  it?  No!  nor  I  —  nor 
any  man." 

The  little  man  had  jumped  back  when  Markheim 


344  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

had  so  suddenly  confronted  him  with  the  mirror; 
but  now,  perceiving  there  was  nothing  worse  on 
hand,  he  chuckled.  "Your  future  lady,  sir,  must 
be  pretty  hard  favored,"  said  he. 

"I  ask  you,"  said  Markheim,  "for  a  Christmas 
present,  and  you  give  me  this  —  this  damned 
reminder  of  years,  and  sins  and  follies  —  this 
hand-conscience!  Did  you  mean  it?  Had  you  a 
thought  in  your  mind?  Tell  me.  It  will  be  better 
for  you  if  you  do.  Come,  tell  me  about  yourself. 
I  hazard  a  guess  now,  that  you  are  in  secret  a  very 
charitable  man?" 

The  dealer  looked  closely  at  his  companion.  It 
was  very  odd,  Markheim  did  not  appear  to  be 
laughing;  there  was  something  in  his  face  like  an 
eager  sparkle  of  hope,  but  nothing  of  mirth. 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"     the  dealer  asked. 

"Not  charitable?"  returned  the  other  gloomily. 
"Not  charitable;  not  pious;  not  scrupulous;  un- 
loving, unbeloved;  a  hand  to  get  money,  a  safe  to 
keep  it.  Is  that  all?  Dear  God,  man,  is  that  all?" 

"I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,"  began  the  dealer,  with 
some  sharpness,  and  then  broke  off  again  into  a 
chuckle.  "But  I  see  this  is  a  love  match  of  yours, 
and  you  have  been  drinking  the  lady's  health." 

"Ah!"  cried  Markheim,  with  a  strange  curiosity. 
"Ah,  have  you  been  in  love?  Tell  me  about  that." 

"I,"  cried  the  dealer.    " I  in  love !   I  never  had  the 


MARKHEIM  345 

time,  nor  have  I  the  time  to-day  for  all  this  nonsense. 
Will  you  take  the  glass?" 

"  Where  is  the  hurry?  "  returned  Markheim.  "  It 
is  very  pleasant  to  stand  here  talking;  and  life  is  so 
short  and  insecure  that  I  would  not  hurry  away  from 
any  pleasure  —  no,  not  even  from  so  mild  a  one  as 
this.  We  should  rather  cling,  cling  to  what  little  we 
can  get,  like  a  man  at  a  cliff's  edge.  Every  second 
is  a  cliff,  if  you  think  upon  it  —  a  cliff  a  mile  high  — 
high  enough,  if  we  fall,  to  dash  us  out  of  every 
feature  of  humanity.  Hence  it  is  best  to  talk 
pleasantly.  Let  us  talk  of  each  other:  why  should 
we  wear  this  mask?  Let  us  be  confidential.  Who 
knows,  we  might  become  friends?" 

"I  have  just  one  word  to  say  to  you,"  said  the 
dealer.  "Either  make  your  purchase,  or  walk  out 
of  my  shop!" 

"True,  true,"  said  Markheim.  "Enough  fooling. 
To  business.  Show  me  something  else." 

The  dealer  stooped  once  more,  this  time  to  replace 
the  glass  upon  the  shelf,  his  thin  blond  hair  falling 
over  his  eyes  as  he  did  so.  Markheim  moved  a  little 
nearer,  with  one  hand  in  the  pocket  of  his  greatcoat; 
he  drew  himself  up  and  filled  his  lungs;  at  the  same 
time  many  different  emotions  were  depicted  to- 
gether on  his  face  —  terror,  horror,  and  resolve, 
fascination  and  a  physical  repulsion;  and  through  a 
haggard  lift  of  his  upper  lip,  his  teeth  looked  out. 


346  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

"This,  perhaps,  may  suit,"  observed  the  dealer; 
and  then,  as  he  began  to  re-arise,  Markheim 
bounded  from  behind  upon  his  victim.  The  long, 
skewerlike  dagger  flashed  and  fell.  The  dealer 
struggled  like  a  hen,  striking  his  temple  on  the  shelf, 
and  then  tumbled  on  the  floor  in  a  heap. 

Time  had  some  score  of  small  voices  in  that  shop,, 
some  stately  and  slow  as  was  becoming  to  their  great 
age;  others  garrulous  and  hurried.  All  these  told 
out  the  seconds  in  an  intricate  chorus  of  tickings. 
Then  the  passage  of  a  lad's  feet,  heavily  running  on 
the  pavement,  broke  in  upon  these  smaller  voices 
and  startled  Markheim  into  the  consciousness  of  his 
surroundings.  He  looked  about  him  awfully.  The 
candle  stood  on  the  counter,  its  flame  solemnly 
wagging  in  a  draught;  and  by  that  inconsiderable 
movement,  the  whole  room  was  filled  with  noiseless 
bustle  and  kept  heaving  like  a  sea:  the  tall  shadows 
nodding,  the  gross  blots  of  darkness  swelling  and 
dwindling  as  with  respiration,  the  faces  of  the 
portraits  and  the  china  gods  changing  and  wavering 
like  images  in  water.  The  inner  door  stood  ajar, 
and  peered  into  that  leaguer  of  shadows  with  a  long 
slit  of  daylight  like  a  pointing  finger. 

From  these  fear-stricken  rovings,  Markheim's 
eyes  returned  to  the  body  of  his  victim,  where  it 
lay  both  humped  and  sprawling,  incredibly  small 
and  strangely  meaner  than  in  life.  In  these  poor, 


MARKHEIM  347 

miserly  clothes,  in  that  ungainly  attitude,  the 
dealer  lay  like  so  much  sawdust.  Markheim  had 
feared  to  see  it,  and,  lo!  it  was  nothing.  And  yet, 
as  he  gazed,  this  bundle  of  old  clothes  and  pool  of 
blood  began  to  find  eloquent  voices.  There  it  must 
lie;  there  was  none  to  work  the  cunning  hinges  or 
direct  the  miracle  of  locomotion  —  there  it  must  lie 
till  it  was  found.  Found!  ay,  and  then?  Then 
would  this  dead  flesh  lift  up  a  cry  that  would  ring 
over  England,  and  fill  the  world  with  the  echoes  of 
pursuit.  Ay,  dead  or  not,  this  was  still  the  enemy. 
"Time  was  that  when  the  brains  were  out,"  he 
thought;  and  the  first  word  struck  into  his  mind. 
Time,  now  that  the  deed  was  accomplished  —  time, 
which  had  closed  for  the  victim,  had  become  instant 
and  momentous  for  the  slayer. 

The  thought  was  yet  in  his  mind,  when,  first  one 
and  then  another,  -with  every  variety  of  pace  and 
voice  —  one  deep  as  the  bell  from  a  cathedral 
turret,  another  ringing  on  its  treble  notes  the  prelude 
of  a  waltz  —  the  clocks  began  to  strike  the  hour  of 
three  in  the  afternoon. 

The  sudden  outbreak  of  so  many  tongues  in  that 
dumb  chamber  staggered  him.  He  began  to  bestir 
himself,  going  to  and  fro  with  the  candle,  be- 
leaguered by  moving  shadows,  and  startled  to  the 
soul  by  chance  reflections.  In  many  rich  mirrors, 
some  of  home  design,  some  from  Venice  or  Amster- 


348  BEST   ENGLISH  TALES 

dam,  he  saw  his  face  repeated  and  repeated,  as  it 
were  an  army  of  spies;  his  own  eyes  met  and 
detected  him;  and  the  sound  of  his  own  steps, 
lightly  as  they  fell,  vexed  the  surrounding  quiet. 
And  still;  as  he  continued  to  fill  his  pockets,  his 
mind  accused  him  with  a  sickening  iteration,  of  the 
thousand  faults  of  his  design.  He  should  have 
chosen  a  more  quiet  hour;  he  should  have  prepared 
an  alibi;  he  should  not  have  used  a  knife;  he 
should  have  been  more  cautious,  and  only  bound 
and  gagged  the  dealer,  and  not  killed  him;  he 
should  have  been  more  bold,  and  killed  the  servant 
also;  he  should  have  done  all  things  otherwise: 
poignant  regrets,  weary,  incessant  toiling  of  the 
mind  to  change  what  was  unchangeable,  to  plan 
what  was  now  useless,  to  be  the  architect  of  the 
irrevocable  past.  Meanwhile,  and  behind  all  this 
activity,  brute  terrors,  like  the  scurrying  of  rats  in 
a  deserted  attic,  filled  the  more  remote  chambers  of 
his  brain  with  riot;  the  hand  of  the  constable 
would  fall  heavy  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  nerves 
would  jerk  like  a  hooked  fish;  or  he  beheld,  in 
galloping  defile,  the  dock,  the  prison,  the  gallows, 
and  the  black  coffin. 

Terror  of  the  people  in  the  street  sat  down  before 
his  mind  like  a  besieging  army.  It  was  impossible, 
he  thought,  but  that  some  rumor  of  the  struggle 
must  have  reached  their  ears  and  set  on  edges  their 


MARKHEIM  349 

curiosity;  and  now,  in  all  the  neighboring  houses, 
he  divined  them  sitting  motionless  and  with  uplifted 
ear  —  solitary  people,  condemned  to  spend  Christ- 
mas dwelling  alone  on  memories  of  the  past,  and 
now  startlingly  recalled  from  that  tender  exercise; 
happy  family  parties,  struck  into  silence  round  the 
table,  the  mother  still  with  raised  finger:  every 
degree  and  age  and  humor,  but  all,  by  their  own 
hearths,  prying  and  hearkening  and  weaving  the 
rope  that  was  to  hang  him.  Sometimes  it  seemed 
to  him  he  could  not  move  too  softly;  the  clink  of  the 
tall  Bohemian  goblets  rang  out  loudly  like  a  bell; 
and  alarmed  by  the  bigness  of  the  ticking,  he  was 
tempted  to  stop  the  clocks.  And  then,  again,  with  a 
swift  transition  of  his  terrors,  the  very  silence  of  the 
place  appeared  a  source  of  peril,  and  a  thing  to  strike 
and  freeze  the  passer-by;  and  he  would  step  more 
boldly,  and  bustle  aloud  among  the  contents  of  the 
shop,  and  imitate,  with  elaborate  bravado,  the 
movements  of  a  busy  man  at  ease  in  his  own  house. 
But  he  was  now  so  pulled  about  by  different 
alarms  that,  while  one  portion  of  his  mind  was  still 
alert  and  cunning,  another  trembled  on  the  brink  of 
lunacy.  One  hallucination  in  particular  took  a 
strong  hold  on  his  credulity.  The  neighbor 
hearkening  with  white  face  beside  his  window,  the 
passer-by  arrested  by  a  horrible  surmise  on  the 
pavement  —  these  could  at  worst  suspect,  they 


350  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

could  not  know;  through  the  brick  walls  and 
shuttered  windows  only  sounds  could  penetrate. 
But  here,  within  the  house,  was  he  alone?  He 
knew  he  was;  he  had  watched  the  servant  set  forth 
sweet-hearting,  in  her  poor  best,  "out  for  the  day" 
written  in  every  ribbon  and  smile.  Yes,  he  was 
alone,  of  course;  and  yet,  in  the  bulk  of  empty 
house  above  him,  he  could  surely  hear  a  stir  of 
delicate  footing  —  he  was  surely  conscious,  in- 
explicably conscious  of  some  presence.  Ay,  surely; 
to  every  room  and  corner  of  the  house  his  imagi- 
nation followed  it;  and  now  it  was  a  faceless  thing, 
and  yet  had  eyes  to  see  with;  and  again  it  was  a 
shadow  of  himself;  and  yet  again  behold  the  image 
of  the  dead  dealer,  reinspired  with  cunning  and 
hatred. 

At  times,  with  a  strong  effort,  he  would  glance  at 
the  open  door  which  still  seemed  to  repel  his  eyes. 
The  house  was  tall,  the  skylight  small  and  dirty,  the 
day  blind  with  fog;  and  the  light  that  filtered  down 
to  the  ground  story  was  exceedingly  faint,  and 
showed  dimly  on  the  threshold  of  the  shop.  And 
yet,  in  that  strip  of  doubtful  brightness,  did  there 
not  hang  wavering  a  shadow? 

Suddenly,  from  the  street  outside,  a  very  jovial 
gentleman  began  to  beat  with  a  staff  on  the  shop- 
door,  accompanying  his  blows  with  shouts  and 
railleries  in  which  the  dealer  was  continually 


MARKHEIM  351 

called  upon  by  name.  Markheim,  smitten  into  ice, 
glanced  at  the  dead  man.  But  no!  he  lay  quite 
still;  he  was  fled  away  far  beyond  earshot  of  these 
blows  and  shoutings;  he  was  sunk  beneath  seas  of 
silence;  and  his  name,  which  would  once  have 
caught  his  notice  above  the  howling  of  a  storm,  had 
become  an  empty  sound.  And  presently  the 
jovial  gentleman  desisted  from  his  knocking  and 
departed. 

Here  was  a  broad  hint  to  hurry  what  remained  to 
be  done,  to  get  forth  from  this  accusing  neighbor- 
hood, to  plunge  into  a  bath  of  London  multitudes, 
and  to  reach,  on  the  other  side  of  day,  that  haven  of 
safety  and  apparent  innocence  —  his  bed.  One 
visitor  had  come:  at  any  moment  another  might 
follow  and  be  more  obstinate.  To  have  done  the 
deed,  and  yet  not  to  reap  the  profit,  would  be  too 
abhorrent  a  failure.  The  money,  that  was  now 
Markheim's  concern;  and  as  a  means  to  that,  the 
keys. 

He  glanced  over  his  shoulder  at  the  open  door, 
where  the  shadow  was  still  lingering  and  shivering; 
and  with  no  conscious  repugnance  of  the  mind,  yet 
with  a  tremor  of  the  belly,  he  drew  near  the  body  of 
his  victim.  The  human  character  had  quite 
departed.  Like  a  suit  half-stuffed  with  bran,  the 
limbs  lay  scattered,  the  trunk  doubled,  on  the  floor; 
and  yet  the  thing  repelled  him.  Although  so  dingy 


352 


BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 


and  inconsiderable  to  the  eye,  he  feared  it  might 
have  more  significance  to  the  touch.  He  took  the 
body  by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  it  on  its  back. 
It  was  strangely  light  and  supple,  and  the  limbs,  as 
if  they  had  been  broken,  fell  into  the  oddest  postures. 
The  face  was  robbed  of  all  expression;  but  it  was 
as  pale  as  wax,  and  shockingly  smeared  with  blood 
about  one  temple.  That  was,  for  Markheim,  the 
one  displeasing  circumstance.  It  carried  him  back, 
upon  the  instant,  to  a  certain  fair-day  in  a  fishers' 
village:  a  gray  day,  a  piping  wind,  a  crowd  upon  the 
street,  the  blare  of  brasses,  the  booming  of  drums, 
the  nasal  voice  of  a  ballad  singer;  and  a  boy  going 
to  and  fro,  buried  over  head  in  the  crowd  and 
divided  between  interest  and  fear,  until,  coming  out 
upon  the  chief  place  of  concourse,  he  beheld  a  booth 
and  a  great  screen  with  pictures,  dismally  designed, 
garishly  colored:  Brownrigg  with  her  apprentice; 
the  Mannings  with  their  murdered  guest;  Weare  in 
the  death-grip  of  Thurtell;  and  a  score  besides  of 
famous  crimes.  The  thing  was  as  clear  as  an 
illusion;  he  was  once  again  that  little  boy;  he  was 
looking  once  again,  and  with  the  same  sense  of 
physical  revolt,  at  these  vile  pictures;  he  was  still 
stunned  by  the  thumping  of  the  drums.  A  bar  of 
that  day's  music  returned  upon  his  memory;  and 
at  that,  for  the  first  time,  a  qualm  came  over  him,  a 
breath  of  nausea,  a  sudden  weakness  of  the  joints, 
which  he  must  instantly  resist  and  conquer. 


MARKHEIM  353 

He  judged  it  more  prudent  to  confront  than  to 
flee  from  these  considerations;  looking  the  more 
hardily  in  the  dead  face,  bending  his  mind  to  realise 
the  nature  and  greatness  of  his  crime.  So  little  a 
while  ago  that  face  had  moved  with  every  change  of 
sentiment,  that  pale  mouth  had  spoken,  that  body 
had  been  all  on  fire  with  governable  energies;  and 
now,  and  by  his  act,  that  piece  of  life  had  been 
arrested,  as  the  horologist,  with  interjected  finger, 
arrests  the  beating  of  the  clock.  So  he  reasoned  in 
vain;  he  could  rise  to  no  more  remorseful  conscious- 
ness; the  same  heart  which  had  shuddered  before 
the  painted  effigies  of  crime,  looked  on  its  reality 
unmoved.  At  best,  he  felt  a  gleam  of  pity  for  one 
who  had  been  endowed  in  vain  with  all  those 
faculties  that  can  make  the  world  a  garden  of 
enchantment,  one  who  had  never  lived  and  who 
was  now  dead.  But  of  penitence,  no,  not  a  tremor. 

With  that,  shaking  himself  clear  of  these  con- 
siderations, he  found  the  keys  and  advanced  towards 
the  open  door  of  the  shop.  Outside,  it  had  begun  to 
rain  smartly;  and  the  sound  of  the  shower  upon  the 
roof  had  banished  silence.  Like  some  dripping 
cavern,  the  chambers  of  the  house  were  haunted  by 
an  incessant  echoing,  which  filled  the  ear  and 
mingled  with  the  ticking  of  the  clocks.  And,  as 
Markheim  approached  the  door,  he  seemed  to  hear, 
in  answer  to  his  own  cautious  tread,  the  steps  of 


354  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

another  foot  withdrawing  up  the  stair.  The 
shadow  still  palpitated  loosely  on  the  threshold. 
He  threw  a  ton's  weight  of  resolve  upon  his  muscles, 
and  drew  back  the  door. 

The  faint,  foggy  daylight  glimmered  dimly  on  the 
bare  floor  and  stairs;  on  the  bright  suit  of  armor 
posted,  halbert  in  hand,  upon  the  landing;  and  on 
the  dark  wood-carvings,  and  framed  pictures  that 
hung  against  the  yellow  panels  of  the  wainscot.  So 
loud  was  the  beating  of  the  rain  through  all  the 
house  that,  in  Markheim's  ears,  it  began  to  be  dis- 
tinguished into  many  different  sounds.  Footsteps 
and  sighs,  the  tread  of  regiments  marching  in  the 
distance,  the  chink  of  money  in  the  counting,  and 
the  creaking  of  doors  held  stealthily  ajar,  appeared 
to  mingle  with  the  patter  of  the  drops  upon  the 
cupola  and  the  gushing  of  the  water  in  the  pipes. 
The  sense  that  he  was  not  alone  grew  upon  him  to 
the  verge  of  madness.  On  every  side  he  was  haunted 
and  begirt  by  presences.  He  heard  them  moving 
in  the  upper  chambers;  from  the  shop,  he  heard 
the  dead  man  getting  to  his  legs;  and  as  he  began 
with  a  great  effort  to  mount  the  stairs,  feet  fled 
quietly  before  him  and  followed  stealthily  behind. 
If  he  were  but  deaf,  he  thought,  how  tranquilly  he 
would  possess  his  soul!  And  then  again,  and  heark- 
ening with  ever  fresh  attention,  he  blessed  himself 
for  that  unresting  sense  which  held  the  outposts 


MARKHEIM  355 

and  stood  a  trusty  sentinel  upon  his  life.  His  head 
turned  continually  on  his  neck;  his  eyes,  which 
seemed  starting  from  their  orbits,  scouted  on  every 
side,  and  on  every  side  were  half-rewarded  as  with 
the  tail  of  something  nameless  vanishing.  The  four- 
and-twenty  steps  to  the  first  floor  were  four-and- 
twenty  agonies. 

On  that  first  story,  the  doors  stood  ajar,  three  of 
them  like  three  ambushes,  shaking  his  nerves  like  the 
throats  of  cannon.  He  could  never  again,  he  felt,  be 
sufficiently  immured  and  fortified  from  men's 
observing  eyes;  he  longed  to  be  home,  girt  in  by 
walls,  buried  among  bedclothes,  and  invisible  to  all 
but  God.  And  at  that  thought  he  wondered  a  little, 
recollecting  tales  of  other  murderers  and  the  fear 
they  were  said  to  entertain  of  heavenly  avengers. 
It  was  not  so,  at  least,  with  him.  He  feared  the 
laws  of  nature,  lest,  in  their  callous  and  immutable 
procedure,  they  should  preserve  some  damning 
evidence  of  his  crime.  He  feared  tenfold  more,  with 
a  slavish,  superstitious  terror,  some  scission  in  the 
continuity  of  man's  experience,  some  wilful  illegal- 
ity of  nature.  He  played  a  game  of  skill,  depend- 
ing on  the  rules,  calculating  consequence  from 
cause;  and  what  if  nature,  as  the  defeated  tyrant 
overthrew  the  chess-board,  should  break  the  mould 
of  their  succession?  The  like  had  befallen  Napoleon 
(so  writers  said)  when  the  winter  changed  the  time 


356  BEST   ENGLISH   TALES 

of  its  appearance.  The  like  might  befall  Markheim: 
the  solid  walls  might  become  transparent  and 
reveal  his  doings  like  those  of  bees  in  a  glass  hive; 
the  stout  planks  might  yield  under  his  foot  like 
quicksands  and  detain  him  in  their  clutch;  ay,  and 
there  were  soberer  accidents  that  might  destroy  him: 
if,  for  instance,  the  house  should  fall  and  imprison 
him  beside  the  body  of  his  victim;  or  the  house  next 
door  should  fly  on  fire,  and  the  firemen  invade  him 
from  all  sides.  These  things  he  feared;  and,  in  a 
sense,  these  things  might  be  called  the  hands  of  God 
reached  forth  against  sin.  But  about  God  Himself 
he  was  at  ease;  his  act  was  doubtless  exceptional, 
but  so  were  his  excuses,  which  God  knew;  it  was 
there,  and  not  among  men,  that  he  felt  sure  of 
justice. 

When  he  had  got  safe  into  the  drawing-room,  and 
shut  the  door  behind  him,  he  was  aware  of  a  respite 
from  alarms.  The  room  was  quite  dismantled,  un- 
carpeted  besides,  and  strewn  with  packing-cases  and 
incongruous  furniture;  several  great  pier-glasses,  in 
which  he  beheld  himself  at  various  angles,  like  an 
actor  on  a  stage;  many  pictures,  framed  and  un- 
framed,  standing,  with  their  faces  to  the  wall;  a  fine 
Sheraton  sideboard,  a  cabinet  of  marquetry,  and  a 
great  old  bed,  with  tapestry  hangings.  The  windows 
opened  to  the  floor;  but  by  great  good  fortune  the 
lower  part  of  the  shutters  had  been  closed,  and  this 


MARKHEIM* 


357 


concealed  him  from  the  neighbors.  Here,  then, 
Markheim  drew  in  a  packing  case  before  the  cabinet, 
and  began  to  search  among  the  keys.  It  was  a  long 
business,  for  there  were  many;  and  it  was  irksome, 
besides;  for,  after  all,  there  might  be  nothing  in  the 
cabinet,  and  time  was  on  the  wing.  But  the 
closeness  of  the  occupation  sobered  him.  With  the 
tail  of  his  eye  he  saw  the  door  —  even  glanced  at  it 
from  time  to  time  directly,  like  a  besieged  com- 
mander pleased  to  verify  the  good  estate  of  his 
defences.  But  in  truth  he  was  at  peace.  The  rain 
falling  in  the  street  sounded  natural  and  pleasant. 
Presently,  on  the  other  side,  the  notes  of  a  piano 
were  wakened  to  the  music  of  a  hymn,  and  the 
voices  of  many  children  took  up  the  air  and  words. 
How  stately,  how  comfortable  was  the  melody! 
How  fresh  the  youthful  voices!  Markheim  gave 
ear  to  it  smilingly,  as  he  sorted  out  the  keys;  and 
his  mind  was  thronged  with  answerable  ideas  and 
images;  church-going  children  and  the  pealing  of 
the  high  organ;  children  afield,  bathers  by  the 
brookside,  ramblers  on  the  brambly  common, 
kite-flyers  in  the  windy  and  cloud-navigated  sky; 
and  then,  at  another  cadence  of  the  hymn,  back 
again  to  church,  and  the  somnolence  of  summer 
Sundays,  and  the  high,  genteel  voice  of  the  parson 
(which  he  smiled  a  little  to  recall)  and  the  painted 
Jacobean  tombs,  and  the  dim  lettering  of  the  Ten 
Commandments  in  the  chancel. 


358  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

And  as  he  sat  thus,  at  once  busy  and  absent,  he 
was  startled  to  his  feet.  A  flash  of  ice,  a  flash  of  fire, 
a  bursting  gush  of  blood,  went  over  him,  and  then  he 
stood  transfixed  and  thrilling.  A  step  mounted  the 
stair  slowly  and  steadily,  and  presently  a  hand  was 
laid  upon  the  knob,  and  the  lock  clicked,  and  the 
door  opened. 

Fear  held  Markheim  in  a  vice.  What  to  expect  he 
knew  not,  whether  the  dead  man  walking,  or  the 
official  ministers  of  human  justice,  or  some  chance 
witness  blindly  stumbling  in  to  consign  him  to  the 
gallows.  But  when  a  face  was  thrust  into  the 
aperture,  glanced  round  the  room,  looking  at  him, 
nodded  and  smiled  as  if  in  friendly  recognition,  and 
then  withdrew  again,  and  the  door  closed  behind  it, 
his  fear  broke  loose  from  his  control  in  a  hoarse  cry. 
At  the  sound  of  this  the  visitant  returned. 

"Did  you  call  me?"  he  asked  pleasantly,  and 
with  that  he  entered  the  room  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him. 

Markheim  stood  and  gazed  at  him  with  all  his 
eyes.  Perhaps  there  was  a  film  upon  his  sight,  but 
the  outlines  of  the  new-comer  seemed  to  change  and 
waver  like  those  of  the  idols  in  the  wavering  candle- 
light of  the  shop;  and  at  times  he  thought  he  knew 
him;  and  at  times  he  thought  he  bore  a  likeness  to 
himself;  and  always,  like  a  lump  of  living  terror, 
there  lay  in  his  bosom  the  conviction  that  this  thing 
was  not  of  the  earth  and  not  of  God. 


MARKHEIM  359 

And  yet  the  creature  had  a  strange  air  of  the  com- 
monplace, as  he  stood  looking  on  Markheim  with  a 
smile;  and  when  he  added:  "You  are  looking  for 
the  money,  I  believe?"  it  was  in  the  tones  of  every- 
day politeness. 

Markheim  made  no  answer. 

"I  should  warn  you,"  resumed  the  other,  "that 
the  maid  has  left  her  sweetheart  earlier  than  usual 
and  will  soon  be  here.  If  Mr.  Markheim  be  found 
in  this  house,  I  need  not  describe  to  him  the  conse- 
quences." 

"You  know  me?"  cried  the  murderer. 

The  visitor  smiled.  "You  have  long  been  a 
favorite  of  mine,"  he  said;  "and  I  have  long 
observed  and  often  sought  to  help  you." 

"What  are  you?"  cried  Markheim:    "the  devil?" 

"What  I  may  be,"  returned  the  other,  "cannot 
affect  the  service  I  propose  to  render  you." 

"It  can,"  cried  Markheim;  "it  does!  Be  helped 
by  you?  No,  never;  not  by  you!  You  do  not  know 
me  yet;  thank  God,  you  do  not  know  me!" 

"I  know  you,"  replied  the  visitant,  with  a  sort  of 
kind  severity  or  rather  firmness.  "  I  know  you  to  the 
soul." 

"Know  me!"  cried  Markheim.  "Who  can  do 
so?  My  life  is  but  a  travesty  and  slander  on  myself. 
I  have  lived  to  belie  my  nature.  All  men  do;  all 
men  are  better  than  this  disguise  that  grows  about 


360  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

and  stifles  them.  You  see  each  dragged  away  by  life, 
like  one  whom  bravos  have  seized  and  muffled  in  a 
cloak.  If  they  had  their  own  control  —  if  you  could 
see  their  faces,  they  would  be  altogether  different, 
they  would  shine  out  for  heroes  -and  saints !  I  am 
worse  than  most;  myself  is  more  overlaid;  my 
excuse  is  known  to  me  and  God.  But,  had  I  the 
time,  I  could  disclose  myself." 

"To  me?"  inquired  the  visitant. 

"To  you  before  all,"  returned  the  murderer.  "I 
supposed  you  were  intelligent.  I  thought  —  since 
you  exist  —  you  would  prove  a  reader  of  the  heart. 
And  yet  you  would  propose  to  judge  me  by  my  acts ! 
Think  of  it;  my  acts!  I  was  born  and  I  have  lived 
in  a  land  of  giants;  giants  have  dragged  me  by  the 
wrists  since  I  was  born  out  of  my  mother  —  the 
giants  of  circumstance.  And  you  would  judge  me 
by  my  acts !  But  can  you  not  look  within?  Can  you 
not  understand  that  evil  is  hateful  to  me?  Can  you 
not  see  within  me  the  clear  writing  of  conscience, 
never  blurred  by  any  wilful  sophistry,  although  too 
often  disregarded?  Can  you  not  read  me  for  a 
thing  that  surely  must  be  common  as  humanity  — 
the  unwilling  sinner?" 

"All  this  is  very  feelingly  expressed,"  was  the 
reply,  "but  it  regards  me  not.  These  points  of 
consistency  are  beyond  my  province,  and  I  care 
not  in  the  least  by  what  compulsion  you  may  have 


MARKHEIM  361 

been  dragged  away,  so  as  you  are  but  carried  in  the 
right  direction.  But  time  flies;  the  servant  delays, 
looking  in  the  faces  of  the  crowd  and  at  the  pictures 
on  the  hoardings,  but  still  she  keeps  moving  nearer; 
and  remember,  it  is  as  if  the  gallows  itself  was 
striding  towards  you  through  the  Christmas  streets ! 
Shall  I  help  you;  I,  who  know  all?  Shall  I  tell  you 
where  to  find  the  money?  " 

"  For  what  price?  "    asked  Markheim. 

"I  offer  you  the  service  for  a  Christmas  gift,"  re- 
turned the  other. 

Markheim  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  with  a 
kind  of  bitter  triumph.  "No,"  said  he,  "I  will  take 
nothing  at  your  hands;  if  I  were  dying  of  thirst, 
and  it  was  your  hand  that  put  the  pitcher  to  my  lips, 
I  should  find  the  courage  to  refuse.  It  may  be 
credulous,  but  I  will  do  nothing  to  commit  myself 
to  evil." 

"I  have  no  objection  to  a  deathbed  repentance," 
observed  the  visitant. 

"Because  you  disbelieve  their  efficacy!"  Mark- 
heim cried. 

"I  do  not  say  so,"  returned  the  other;  "but  I 
look  on  these  things  from  a  different  side,  and 
when  the  life  is  done  my  interest  falls.  The  man 
has  lived  to  serve  me,  to  spread  black  looks  under 
color  of  religion,  or  to  sow  tares  in  the  wheat-field, 
as  you  do,  in  a  course  of  weak  compliance  with 


362  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

desire.  Now  that  he  draws  so  near  to  his  deliver- 
ance, he  can  add  but  one  act  of  service  —  to  repent, 
to  die  smiling,  and  thus  to  build  up  in  confidence 
and  hope  the  more  timorous  of  my  surviving 
followers.  I  am  not  so  hard  a  master.  Try  me. 
Accept  my  help.  Please  yourself  in  life  as  you  have 
done  hitherto;  please  yourself  more  amply,  spread 
your  elbows  at  the  board;  and  when  the  night 
begins  to  fall  and  the  curtains  tobe  drawn,  I  tell  you, 
for  your  greater  comfort,  that  you  will  find  it  even 
easy  to  compound  your  quarrel  with  your  con- 
science, and  to  make  a  truckling  peace  with  God. 
I  came  but  now  from  such  a  deathbed,  and  the 
room  was  full  of  sincere  mourners,  listening  to  the 
man's  last  words:  and  when  I  looked  into  that  face, 
which  had  been  set  as  a  flint  against  mercy,  I 
found  it  smiling  with  hope." 

"And  do  you,  then,  suppose  me  such  a  creature?" 
asked  Markheim.  "Do  you  think  I  have  no  more 
generous  aspirations  than  to  sin,  and  sin,  and  sin, 
and,  at  the  last,  sneak  into  heaven?  My  heart  rises 
at  the  thought.  Is  this,  then,  your  experience  of 
mankind?  or  is  it  because  you  find  me  with  red 
hands  that  you  presume  such  baseness?  and  is 
this  crime  of  murder  indeed  so  impious  as  to  dry  up 
the  very  springs  of  good?  " 

"Murder  is  to  me  no  special  category,"  replied  the 
other.  "All  sins  are  murder,  even  as  all  life  is  war. 


MARKHEIM  363 

I  behold  your  race,  like  starving  mariners  on  a  raft, 
plucking  crusts  out  of  the  hands  of  famine  and 
feeding  on  each  other's  lives.  I  follow  sins  beyond 
the  moment  of  their  acting;  I  find  in  all  that  the 
last  consequence  is  death;  and  to  my  eyes,  the 
pretty  maid  who  thwarts  her  mother  with  such 
taking  graces  on  a  question  of  a  ball,  drips  no  less 
visibly  with  human  gore  than  such  a  murderer  as 
yourself.  Do  I  say  that  I  follow  sins?  I  follow 
virtues  also;  they  differ  not  by  the  thickness  of  a 
nail,  they  are  both  scythes  for  the  reaping  angel  of 
Death.  Evil,  for  which  I  live,  consists  not  in 
action  but  in  character.  The  bad  man  is  dear 
to  me;  not  the  bad  act,  whose  fruits,  if  we  could 
follow  them  far  enough  down  the  hurtling  cataract 
of  the  ages,  might  yet  be  found  more  blessed 
than  those  of  the  rarest  virtues.  And  it  is  not 
because  you  have  killed  a  dealer,  but  because  you 
are  Markheim,  that  I  offer  to  forward  your  escape." 
"I  will  lay  my  heart  open  to  you,"  answered 
Markheim.  "This  crime  on  which  you  find  me  is 
my  last.  On  my  way  to  it  I  have  learned  many 
lessons;  itself  is  a  lesson,  a  momentous  lesson. 
Hitherto  I  have  been  driven  with  revolt  to  what  I 
would  not;  I  was  a  bond-slave  to  poverty,  driven 
and  scourged.  There  are  robust  virtues  that  can 
stand  in  these  temptations;  mine  was  not  so:  I 
had  a  thirst  of  pleasure.  But  to-day,  and  out  of 


364  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

this  deed,  I  pluck  both  warning  and  riches  —  both 
the  power  and  a  fresh  resolve  to  be  myself.  I 
become  in  all  things  a  free  actor  in  the  world;  I 
begin  to  see  myself  all  changed,  these  hands  the 
agents  of  good,  this  heart  at  peace.  Something 
comes  over  me  out  of  the  past;  something  of  what  I 
have  dreamed  on  Sabbath  evenings  to  the  sound  of 
the  church  organ,  of  what  I  forecast  when  I  shed 
tears  over  noble  books,  or  talked,  an  innocent  child, 
with  my  mother.  There  lies  my  life;  I  have 
wandered  a  few  years,  but  now  I  see  once  more  my 
city  of  destination." 

"You  are  to  use  this  money  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change, I  think?"  remarked  the  visitor;  "and 
there,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  have  already  lost  some 
thousands?  " 

"Ah,"  said  Markheim,  "but  this  time  I  have  a 
sure  thing." 

"This  time,  again,  you  will  lose,"  replied  the 
visitor  quietly. 

"Ah,  but  I  keep  back  the  half!"  cried  Mark- 
heim. 

"That  also  you  will  lose,"  said  the  other. 

The  sweat  started  upon  Markheim's  brow. 
"Well,  then,  what  matter?"  he  exclaimed.  "Say 
it  be  lost,  say  I  am  plunged  again  in  poverty,  shall 
one  part  of  me,  and  that  the  worse,  continue  until 
the  end  to  override  the  better?  Evil  and  good  run 


MARKHEIM  365 

strong  in  me,  haling  me  both  ways.  I  do  not  love 
the  one  thing,  I  love  all.  I  can  conceive  great  deeds, 
renunciations,  martyrdoms;  and  though  I  be  fallen 
to  such  a  crime  as  murder,  pity  is  no  stranger  to  my 
thoughts.  I  pity  the  poor;  who  knows  their  trials 
better  than  myself?  I  pity  and  help  them;  I  prize 
love,  I  love  honest  laughter;  there  is  no  good  thing 
nor  true  thing  on  earth  but  I  love  it  from  my  heart. 
And  are  my  vices  only  to  direct  my  life,  and  my 
virtues  to  lie  without  effect,  like  some  passive  lumber 
of  the  mind?  Not  so;  good,  also,  is  a  spring  of  acts." 

But  the  visitant  raised  his  finger.  "For  six-and- 
thirty  years  that  you  have  been  in  this  world,"  said 
he,  "  through  many  changes  of  fortune  and  varieties 
of  humor,  I  have  watched  you  steadily  fall. 
Fifteen  years  ago  you  would  have  started  at  a  theft. 
Three  years  back  you  would  have  blenched  at  the 
name  of  murder.  Is  there  any  crime,  is  there  any 
cruelty  or  meanness,  from  which  you  still  recoil? — 
five  years  from  now  I  shall  detect  you  in  the  fact! 
Downward,  downward,  lies  your  way;  nor  can 
anything  but  death  avail  to  stop  you." 

"It  is  true,"  Markheim  said  huskily,  "I  have  in 
some  degree  complied  with  evil.  But  it  is  so  with 
all:  the  very  saints,  in  the  mere  exercise  of  living, 
grow  less  dainty,  and  take  on  the  tone  of  their 
surroundings." 

"I  will  propound  to  you  one  simple  question/' 


366  BEST    ENGLISH   TALES 

said  the  other;  "and  as  you  answer,  I  shall  read  to 
you  your  moral  horoscope.  You  have  grown  in 
many  things  more  lax;  possibly  you  do  right  to  be 
so;  and  at  any  account,  it  is  the  same  with  all  men. 
But  granting  that,  are  you  in  any  one  particular, 
however  trifling,  more  difficult  to  please  with  your 
own  conduct,  or  do  you  go  in  all  things  with  a 
looser  rein?  " 

"In  any  one?"  repeated  Markheim,  with  an 
anguish  of  consideration.  "No,"  he  added,  with 
despair,  "in  none!  I  have  gone  down  in  all." 

"Then,"  said  the  visitant,  " content  yourself  with 
what  you  are,  for  you  will  never  change;  and  the 
words  of  your  part  on  this  stage  are  irrevocably 
written  down." 

Markheim  stood  for  a  long  while  silent,  and 
indeed  it  was  the  visitant  who  first  bioke  the  silence. 
"That  being  so,"  he  said,  "shall  I  show  you  the 
money?" 

"And  grace?"  cried  Markheim. 

"Have  you  not  tried  it?"  returned  the  other. 
"Two  or  three  years  ago,  did  I  not  see  you  on  the 
platform  of  revival  meetings,  and  was  not  your 
voice  the  loudest  in  the  hymn?  " 

"It  is  true,"  said  Markheim;  "and  I  see  clearly 
what  remains  for  me  by  way  of  duty.  I  thank  you 
for  these  lessons  from  my  soul ;  my  eyes  are  opened, 
and  I  behold  myself  at  last  for  what  I  am." 


MARKHEIM  367 

At  this  moment,  the  sharp  note  of  the  door-bell 
rang  through  the  house;  and  the  visitant,  as  though 
this  were  some  concerted  signal  for  which  he  had 
been  waiting,  changed  at  once  in  his  demeanor. 

"The  maid!"  he  cried.  "She  has  returned,  as  I 
forewarned  you,  and  there  is  now  before  you  one 
more  difficult  passage.  Her  master,  you  must  say, 
is  ill;  you  must  let  her  in,  with  an  assured  but 
rather  serious  countenance  —  no  smiles,  no  over- 
acting, and  I  promise  you  success!  Once  the  girl 
within,  and  the  door  closed,  the  same  dexterity  that 
has  already  rid  you  of  the  dealer  will  relieve  you  of 
this  last  danger  in  your  path.  Thenceforward  you 
have  the  whole  evening  —  the  whole  night,  if 
needful  —  to  ransack  the  treasures  of  the  house  and 
to  make  good  your  safety.  This  is  help  that  comes 
to  you  with  the  mask  of  danger.  Up!"  he  cried; 
"up,  friend;  your  life  hangs  trembling  in  the 
scales:  up,  and  act!" 

Markheim  steadily  regarded  his  counsellor.  "If 
I  be  condemned  to  evil  acts,"  he  said,  "there  is  still 
one  door  of  freedom  open  —  I  can  cease  from  action. 
If  my  life  be  an  ill  thing,  I  can  lay  it  down.  Though 
I  be,  as  you  say  truly,  at  the  beck  of  every  small 
temptation,  I  can  yet,  by  one  decisive  gesture,  place 
myself  beyond  the  reach  of  all.  My  love  of  good  is 
damned  to  barrenness;  it  may,  and  let  it  be!  But 
I  have  still  my  hatred  of  evil;  and  from  that,  to  your 


368  BEST    ENGLISH    TALES 

galling  disappointment,  you  shall  see  that  I  can  draw 
both  energy  and  courage." 

The  features  of  the  visitant  began  to  undergo  a 
wonderful  and  lovely  change:  they  brightened  and 
softened  with  a  tender  triumph,  and,  even  as  they 
brightened,  faded  and  dislimned.  But  Markheim 
did  not  pause  to  watch  or  understand  the  trans- 
formation. He  opened  the  door  and  went  down- 
stairs very  slowly,  thinking  to  himself.  His  past 
went  soberly  before  him;  he  beheld  it  as  it  was, 
ugly  and  strenuous  like  a  dream,  random  as  chance- 
medley  —  a  scene  of  defeat.  Life,  as  he  thus 
reviewed  it,  tempted  him  no  longer;  but  on  the 
farther  side  he  perceived  a  quiet  haven  for  his  bark. 
He  paused  in  the  passage,  and  looked  into  the  shop, 
where  the  candle  still  burned  by  the  dead  body. 
It  was  strangely  silent.  Thoughts  of  the  dealer 
swarmed  into  his  mind,  as  he  stood  gazing.  And 
then  the  bell  once  more  broke  out  into  impatient 
clamor. 

He  confronted  the  maid  upon  the  threshold  with 
something  like  a  smile. 

"You  had  better  go  for  the  police,"  said  he:  "I 
have  killed  your  master." 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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OVERDUE. 


NOV    ^  1933 
NOV    26  1933 
DEC    6   1935 

JUL  251936 

NOV    6    1939 


DEC  ; 


SEP   11 


NOV  19  1941  K 


DEC  30t9W 


JW 


LD  21-50m-8,-32 


YB1 i  I 57G 


§28527 


